


Our Scars Make Us Golden

by K_R_Closson



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I will do it, Rule 63, a what if scenario where Jaime raises Jon in Essos, and becomes a champion of women trapped in marriages and betrothals they don't want, and if I have to rule63 them and change their whole background, because someone in this universe needs to be a decent person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-03-08 14:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18896068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_R_Closson/pseuds/K_R_Closson
Summary: Jaime Lannister drives her sword through Aerys's back to save a kingdom. When her father's armies sack the city and kill those she was sworn to protect, she flees King's Landing, unsure what to do. On her way to Dorne, she runs into Ned Stark who hands her a baby and a purpose, protect the Targaryen heir.A Jaime Lannister redemption story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title take from Josh Groban's 99 Years.
> 
> I decided to accept that Westeros is apparently a world rife with sexual assault and explore what a world like that would look like. And where I ended up was with Jaime Lannister training to protect herself and her sister and, after being unable to protect her Queen, she would go to Essos, train in every weapon she could and then rain down vengeance on all the shitty men in Westeros.

Jaime learned sword fighting from the Braavosi and spears from the Unsullied. She learned whips from the slave masters of Yunkai. And now, she joins a khalasar to learn a new host of weapons; arakhs and bolas, to sharpen her skills with daggers and whips. And she’ll perfect all these weapons, and more, from atop horseback. 

It won’t be the last place she and Jon train, but it might be the hardest of their lessons yet. The khal, a large man with fearsome scars and a long braid, looks Jaime over and grins as if he thinks it’s amusing to see a grown woman wish to join a khalasar. His gaze slides to Jon and his grin growns. 

“Only the strong survive,” he says either a threat or a warning. Either way, it’s all he has to say to them. Jaime takes it to mean they’re welcome until they’re not. It’s how it goes every place they visit. 

She climbs atop her horse, her few possessions contained on her person or in her horse’s saddlebags. Jon mounts up as well. His skin has darkened since they first came to Essos. It was miserable when he was a babe, his skin reddened and peeled only to do the same over and over until finally his skin grew accustomed to the heat and sunlight. He shed his skin like a snake until he found one that fit him.

At six and ten, he’s tall, well-muscled because he trains with her, but he still has the mop of black curls he was born with. When she found Ned Stark at the Tower of Joy, she wasn’t sure what to expect. By all accounts, he and Robert Baratheon led the uprising against the royal family Jaime was sworn to protect. But, only a short time before she fled for Dorne, she killed King Aerys and watched her father take over her city.

So maybe it wasn’t surprising when Stark handed her a babe and told her to protect the newest Targaryen no matter the cost. Westeros wasn’t safe for Targaryens, not with her father in charge. She took the babe across the Narrow Sea and forged a life for them in any way she could. 

She couldn’t protect Queen Rhaella, she couldn’t protect Princess Elia or any of the children, but by all the gods, she will protect Jon. 

He’s never pressed her for more answers than she’s willing to give. He seems to enjoy their nomadic life, absorbing each shift they make. He’s the one, actually, who pushed to join a khalasar, and she couldn’t say no to him. 

Gods, Jaime Lannister, a soft-hearted  _ mother _ . She wouldn’t believe it except this is the life she’s lived for the past sixteen years. She’s never wanted children of her own, but she couldn’t refuse to care for the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Not that she intends to ever let him near the damned throne. 

Life on this side of the Narrow Sea has been an adventure, the kind she always begged for stories of a girl. Cersei scoffed at the adventures, but sometimes, if she was in an indulgent mood, she would read them to Jaime. It wasn’t until her younger brother Tyrion was of reading age that Jaime was given her fill of the stories. 

Sometimes, she wonders how her brother fares, stuck in the lion’s den without Jaime as a buffer. Her father despises his son and Cersei, the dutiful daughter, follows their father’s lead. She doesn’t have many regrets, she would kill Aerys again to keep him from what he intended, but she does regret leaving her brother behind. 

It’s silly, even as a despised son, he’s still the sole son of Tywin Lannister. He has a comfortable life. He would hate the parts of Essos Jaime and Jon have seen. They’ve been to the cities, seen the silks and smelled the perfumes, but they’ve never lingered or indulged. 

She and Jon ride in silence as they observe the Dothraki around them. They’re a people who pride themselves on conquest. They remind her of the Ironborn except their chosen steeds are horses not ships. But it’s the same mentality - taking instead of supporting themselves. She hopes they don’t stay long amongst the horse lords. 

Not for the first time, she wonders where all this ends. Will Jon one day realize he is a man grown and leave his false mother behind to pursue a family of his own? Will he finally demand to know his true parentage and where he came from? She won’t die in Casterly Rock, old and surrounded by her family. She won’t even die in the service of the royal family. If she was going to do that, it would’ve happened years ago when she faced the Mountain.

She shakes the thoughts from her head. The sun bears down, hot and demanding, and she focuses on the trickle of sweat between her breasts rather than the night that changed the entire course of her life.

***

Jaime is far from fluent in Dothraki, but she knows enough to get by. It’s Jon who has a tongue for languages, but he prefers to play stupid, vacant eyes and tilted head. When they stop for the night, Jaime and Jon stick close. They’re joined by two women and a man as they lay out their bedrolls. One woman is closer to Jaime’s age, her hands rough with calluses, and her smile too sharp to be friendly. The other woman is younger and she eyes Jon as if she wants to throw him to the ground and ride him. 

Jon catches her at it and flushes. Jaime rolls her eyes and when she looks up, the man is watching her.  _ They take what they want _ , Jaime remembers.  _ They only respect those who resist them. _ Her stomach churns and she wishes she’d told Jon that what the horse lords could teach them wasn’t worth it. 

The man moves, and he’s quick. Her grabs Jaime’s arm in a bruising grip. Jon makes a sound but the two women step in front of him, blocking his path. 

“No,” Jaime tells the man. She repeats it in his language.

He laughs and grabs her other arm. “Yes,” he says mockingly.

She twists an arm free and in an instant her dagger tip is between his legs. She looks up at him, furious and smug as fear creeps into his expression. She presses enough to puncture his leathers in order to make her point. “No,” she repeats. 

“No,” he agrees.

He steps back, and she steps forward until they’ve reached his horse. She looks through his things until she finds a recurve bow. She takes both the bow and the quiver, and the man doesn’t protest. She adds it to her things and returns to sit next to Jon. 

He quirks a smile at the younger of the women and points to himself. “Jon.”

The woman catches his hand and presses it to her chest. “Mani.”

The older woman shares a look with Jaime as if to commiserate on the folly of youth. “Asavvi.” She gestures to the man. “Hezho.”

“And now we’re all friends.” Jaime stretches out. She grunts, her muscles are stiff from riding all day. She’ll need to be awake early tomorrow to go through her spear patterns. Spear tomorrow, sword the day after, spear again. There’s no point in learning as many styles of fighting as she can only to forget them. 

***

Hezho takes her rejection with far more grace than a Westerosi man would have. He appoints himself her teacher, showing her how to use the recurve bow. It gives him an excuse to put his hands on her and sometimes his touches linger, but she considers it an acceptable trade. 

As the days pass, her muscles grow accustomed to riding, and she gains an audience during her morning training. So far, none have attempted to join her and Jon, but there are looks and she wonders what those interested will offer in exchange for teaching.

Mani’s brother Jezzo is the first to approach. He has a crude spear and thrusts it at Jon, not as a threat, but a demand all the same. Jon raises his eyebrows and looks to Jaime. 

“Why not?” she asks.

It takes two raids before Jezzo gifts them each Dothraki leathers. There’s someone else’s blood on them, and they don’t fit as well as they could, but Jaime appreciates them all the same. 

Felli is a young woman who approaches Jaime not long after the second raid. She shares their firepit, eats their food, but she stares at Jaime not Jon which is a new development. Once they’re done eating, she touches Jaime’s hair in question.

The Dothraki all have long hair, men and women both. Jaime’s hair is longish, but she keeps it braided tight to her head and those two braids are pinned. Felli’s fingers trail over the braids, and she tilts her head, curious. Jaime smiles and reaches her own hand out. In an instant, she has a grip on Felli’s brown locks. She doesn’t pull or tug but the girl’s eyes widen and she nods. 

If Jaime was less vain, she would chop all her hair off, but the golden locks are the one thing which remind her of home and who she once was. So she braids her hair, pins it away from grabbing hands, and hopes her vanity won’t one day be the death of her. 

Cersei was always the beautiful twin. Men and boys fawned over her, growing more desperate for her attention the more she denied them. Sometimes, her suitors would turn to Jaime as if they’d be willing to accept a secondary prize if it was easier to obtain. 

When Jaime was seven and ten, she was appointed to the Queensguard and all marriage offers ended. Other offers did not, but she had a sword and the backing of Queen Rhaella. That was usually enough to dissuade even the most persistent of men. 

Of course, Jaime wasn’t able to return the favor. The man who brutalized her queen was the one man she couldn’t lift her sword to. Until the night she decided she  _ could _ , that she  _ had  _ to. It didn’t save her queen in the end. It didn’t save Elia or the children. She heard rumors that Daenerys and Viserys escaped Dragonstone, but she’s seen no proof of it. 

***

Murmurs spread through the khalasar. Drogo is to take a wife. And not just any wife, but an exotic one. Jaime’s not sure what exotic means to the Dothraki, there are peoples of all kinds in Essos, but Jon reports that the bride-to-be is Westerosi.

“Then what’s she doing here?” Jaime asks. 

“Maybe the same thing you are.”

Jaime slants an unamused look at her ward. “I highly doubt it. I didn’t cross the Narrow Sea for marriage.”

“Were you running from it?” 

Jon’s still grinning, cheeky, but there’s a hint of curiosity as well. They don’t talk much of her life before he came into it. Her stories are almost all of Essos, the people she’s met and the things she’s learned. What good would it do to tell him he is the Targaryen heir? Robert Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne, married to Jaime’s sister. The Baratheons and Lannisters have shown they’re not only willing but wanting to kill every last Targaryen alive. 

The only thing Westeros offers Jon is death, and she won’t risk it. 

“With this?” Jaime taps the scar on her cheek. “Men were running from  _ me _ .”

Jon huffs, clearly not believing her, but he doesn’t press her either. Jaime touches the scar, a jagged ugly thing. She’d done the stitches herself. Sewing had never been one of her strengths, and self-stitching was an entirely new challenge. The Mountain cut her face before he cut down her princess. She saved Elia from one terrible fate but not another. 

She drops her hands to her horse’s reins. She misses the veils of Naath which covered her face from the nose down. Perhaps when they make their next transition she’ll take to wearing the veils again. 

***

The khalasar descends on Pentos for the wedding and subsequent celebration. The gracious host of the event is Magister Illyrio Mopatis. Jaime doesn’t know much of him. But as she weaves her way through the crowd and hears her own language for the first time in several moons, she realizes not everyone here is a stranger.

Because standing with Illyrio are two children she would recognize anywhere even though one was quite small the last she saw him and the other was still in her mother’s womb. “Seven hells,” she murmurs as she gazes upon Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. 

“What is it?” Jon asks. “Do you know them?”

Why is Khal Drogo marrying a Westerosi girl-child? Jaime could understand any number of Westerosi lords vying for her hand, what better way to spring a revolt than by marrying one of the last Targaryens, but the Dothraki don’t care what happens across the Narrow Sea. From what she’s heard, they won’t even entertain the thought of crossing the ocean. 

And it certainly isn’t a love match, Daenerys looks small and terrified as she stands next to her brother. He surveys the Dothraki around him with a certain degree of smugness and superiority. The boy appears to have inherited much of Aerys. Jaime finds herself reaching for her dagger before she realizes what she’s doing. 

“Jaime--”

She cuts Jon off by lifting a hand. “You’re looking at Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. They’re believed to be the only Targaryens to survive Robert’s Rebellion.”

“Which means they’re powerful tools for anyone unhappy with the current regime.”

Jaime’s lip curls as Viserys grips his sister’s arm and leans down to whisper something in her ear. One of them is powerful and one of them is a tool. She looks down at her Dothraki clothing and for the first time in many, many years, wishes she had her Queensguard armor. 

“Uh oh,” Jon says. “What’re you thinking?”

“That Daenerys is very small and the khal is quite large. And the Dothraki only respect those who prove they deserve it.”

“I’ll make sure the horses are saddled tonight,” Jon says. “In the meantime, I’m going to try and enjoy myself.”

Jaime lets him wander off, trusting he won’t jump into any fights to the death or anything equally stupid. Herself, she avoids grabby hands and, when she isn’t quick enough, she lovingly pets the hilt of her dagger, and she’s left alone. 

“You navigate the Dothraki well,” a man tells her. He isn’t dressed like a Dothraki or in the finery of Illyrio’s household. The sword strapped to his belt is wellmade. It suggests he’s a son of a prominent house, but she can’t see why he’d be here. 

“They respect force, those who wield it and those who resist. The bride won’t do either.”

“She could use a protector.” The man touches his sword, his chest puffing up as if he sees himself in that role. Better him than Jaime. She utterly failed Daenerys’s family. Let someone else pick up the impossible mantle. 

“And who better than a Westerosi knight?”

“Jorah Mormont of Bear Island.”

A  _ northerner _ . Gods help her. Ned Stark was a northerner and he managed to fuck up her life. Most likely, Jorah won’t try to foist any babes off on her. “You’re far from home.”

“You know your Westerosi geography?”

“I’m a traveler,” she answers. “I know a lot of things.”

“I’m here to offer my service to the one true king of Westeros.”

Jaime scoffs. “Last I checked, it was Robert’s fat arse on the bloody throne.”

“He stole what rightfully belongs to Viserys.”

_ And Viserys is using his sister to take it back.  _ Sometimes, Jaime wants to sharpen her sword and run through every man in the Seven Kingdoms. There isn’t a good one amongst the lot. Except maybe Jon. He can live. “Viserys is marrying his sister to a khal. If Viserys let his throne be taken then why would they think he deserves it?”

Jorah turns his sharp gaze on her. Jaime should probably keep her mouth shut, no need to raise his suspicion of a Dothraki woman who knows too much about Westeros, but that is her princess being sold to a man who will not be gentle with her. 

“Have you told Viserys the Dothraki call the ocean poison water and have never crossed it?” she asks. “I doubt he’ll be too happy with an army which will never step foot in Westeros.”

“You’re very interested in this wedding,” Jorah says. His hand creeps toward his sword.

“The khal should marry for the good of the khalasar,” Jaime says.  _ And no one will harm Daenerys while I have the strength to protect her _ . 

“Ah.” He abandons his sword, looking amused now. “Jealous? I’m sure there are plenty of men here who could satisfy you.”

_ I’m sure there are not _ . Jaime takes her leave of the man. While the celebrations go on below, she slips into Illyrio’s home for anything worth taking. She knows where his vaults are, because there are multiple guards on duty, no doubt to keep the Dothraki from raiding. Jaime searches the bedchambers until she finds one which must below to Daenerys. She fills a bag with clothes and trinkets. There’s a drawer with a false bottom. She takes the jewels inside. She finds a larger bounty in Viserys’s rooms. 

Once she has her spoils, she stops in the kitchen. She changed in Daenerys’s room, from her Dothraki clothes to one of the plainer dresses. She even scrubbed herself in the washroom. She won’t pass for a highborn lady, but she doesn’t look Dothraki anymore. It’s easy to charm food from the cook, and she takes the bounty with her. 

She finds Jon near their horses. He accepts the extra bags without question. “Illyrio gifted Daenerys with dragon eggs. He says they’re petrified. It’s a shame, isn’t it? All the dragons gone?”

Aerys still found ways to burn his enemies. She doesn’t want to imagine how much worse he would’ve been with dragons on his side. “I’m going to head out.” She nods discreetly toward where Drogo and Daenerys are preparing to leave. “Change if you can. I don’t think we’ll be back here.”

Again, Jon doesn’t question. Jaime cuts a slit up her dress so she can still ride and heads off to discreetly tail the newly wed couple. Drogo surprises her by going quite a distance, until the continued celebrations can’t be seen or heard. Jaime tethers her horse to some rocks and sneaks closer to where Daenerys is staring out at the sea. There’s a look of longing on her face as if for a moment she’s forgotten where she is. 

But then Drogo steps up behind her, and Jaime hears the hitched breath. It’s a precursor to tears, and Jaime’s stomach twists. How many times did she stand outside the royal chambers as Aerys took his wife while she sobbed? How many times did she hear Rhaella’s pleas for mercy? Jaime was sworn to protect her, and she didn’t. And in the end, Aerys killed her with the babe he put in her stomach. 

Jaime leaps out from her hiding place as Drogo drops Daenerys’s dress and shoves the naked girl to the ground. Jaime twists Drogo’s long hair around her hand and yanks his head back. She holds her dagger to his throat. “She said no.”

Daenerys turns, and she gasps when she sees Jaime with a knife to her husband’s throat. There are tears on her cheeks as she scrambles backward. 

“You can dress if you like,” Jaime tells her in the common tongue. “He will not touch you if you don’t want it.” To make her point clear, she draws a thin line of blood with her dagger. 

“Who are you?” Daenerys whispers.

_ The woman who killed your father _ . “I don’t like rapers. If you want to stay here and try to coax Drogo’s army across the Narrow Sea, I will leave and you’ll never see me again. But the Dothraki have never sailed, and the khalasar is small compared to the armies of Westeros.”

“The people are waiting for my brother.” Daenerys clutches her dress to herself, but she hasn’t put it on yet. “They want another Targaryen on the throne.”

“Is that Illyrio speaking or your brother? Westeros has a king. They may not like him much, but they don’t have fond memories of the last Targaryen. From what I’ve seen of your brother, he isn’t much better.”

Daenerys offers no defense of her brother. Drogo tries to buck Jaime off him, but she yanks harder on his hair and digs her blade deeper into his neck. “Don’t remind me you’re here,” she advises him in his own language. To Daenerys she says, “We don’t have much time. I cannot offer you an army like Drogo or a life of luxury like Illyrio. I cannot even promise you safety. But I can promise you freedom and that I would give up my life if it meant saving yours.”

Daenerys’s gaze is drawn to Drogo who snarls and she scoots backward. “My brother commanded me to make him happy.”

“Then spread your legs for him and let him make a bloody mess of you,” Jaime says. 

New tears leak out. “My brother hurts me, his only family. He would not be kind to his subjects.” The sound of hooves attract her attention and she turns to see Jon riding toward them. 

“My ward,” Jaime says. “He will not harm you, you have my word. If you would like to come with us, put on your dress. Otherwise, I’ll leave you to your wedding night.”

Daenerys scrambles to her feet. She clumsily puts her dress back on. She stares at Jaime as she backs up, until she reaches the horse she was gifted by Drogo. The khal spits and hisses and she mounts it and rides her horse up to Jon.

“Jon?” Jaime calls out. “Be a dear and spook the khal’s horse. We don’t want him following us.”

It’s safer to kill the horse, but she can’t bring herself to kill such a magnificent creature because of its owner. When the horse takes off, Drogo puts up a renewed fight. Jaime shoves him down into the dirt and uses her dagger to slice off his hair. She drops it next to him and sprints for her horse. He howls and she mounts and joins Jon and Daenerys before he can get his wits about him. 

Jaime leads them on a hard ride north to Braavos. Daenerys doesn’t complain, she doesn’t speak much at all, possibly still in shock. Jon keeps quiet as well, he’s never much of a talker. Jaime doesn’t push either of them into conversation. 

When they reach the city, Jaime finds them a place where they and their horses can spend the night. She gets two rooms and leaves Jon to care for the horses as she brings Daenerys and their belongings to their rooms. 

She goes through their bags to see what they have. Clothes, food, weapons, more clothes and...she unwraps what looks to be a dragon egg.

“Oh,” Daenerys breathes. She reaches out to touch the green scales. She digs through the other bags, making happy sounds as she finds the other two eggs. She gathers them to her. Jaime hears footsteps, and she throws a blanket over the eggs just in time for Jon to burst in. 

He pauses when he sees the two of them, clearly hiding something. Then he grins and shuts the door behind him. “I couldn’t leave them.”

“They’re a bit conspicuous,” Jaime says but as Daenerys cradles the eggs, she knows she won’t try to sell them or leave them behind. “Speaking of conspicuous…” She touches Daenerys’s hair. “There will be people looking for a missing Targaryen.”

Daenerys takes a steadying breath and her voice doesn’t waver as she says, “Do what you must.”

That night, Jaime cuts Daenerys’s hair to her shoulders and dyes it a dark brown. The girl touches the ends sadly, but she doesn’t shed any tears.

The next day, they depart for Lorath.


	2. Chapter 2

They fall into a new life in Lorath. The people there are nice, and they’re from all over Essos, descendents of escaped slaves, native Lorathi, and Ibbenese who have decided to settle on the island. Jaime, Jon, and Daenerys are simply three people hoping for a nice, quiet life in one of the fishing ports. 

They rent rooms from a man who owns his own boat. Jon is immediately hired to help hunt seals and walruses. Daenerys’s small hands prove good for weaving fishing nets. Jaime offers her services to train men and women who want to learn to fight, for their own protection, so they can become sellswords, or for whatever reason brings them there. 

It’s isn’t a glorious life, but they have a place to sleep every night and hot food three times a day. Daenerys begins to talk, and Jon can coax smiles and even the occasional girlish giggle from her lips. 

Jaime frequents the markets and the main inn for news of the mainland. It’s there she hears of a great khal brought low by his Westerosi bride. It’s rumored there was a white-haired man who escaped with his life but no one knows where. Other rumors say he was trampled by the khalasar as it rode away, led by a new man. The people who pass through Lorath don’t seem too concerned with missing Targaryens, but Jaime still stays on her guard. 

***

“My brother wanted to marry me,” Daenerys says one evening. The three of them stay in one room. There’s a large bed for Jaime and Daenerys to share and a smaller one for Jon. He used to stand outside the room when they changed, but now he simply turns his back. 

“Your brother?” Jon asks, alarmed. 

“It’s a common practice among Targaryens,” Jaime answers. “Some say it’s why they sometimes go mad.”

“Like King Aerys,” Jon says. He sits on the edge of the large bed. “Did you know him?”

She can still feel the scrape of his nails against her cheek, his hot breath against her neck. She’ll never forget the laughter. It would come suddenly, high-pitched, and fade just as quickly. “He was not a kind man.” She offers Daenerys an apologetic smile. “Unlike Prince Rhaegar. Why don’t we tell a happy story for once?”

“He dies,” Daenerys says. Her voice is flat, and she looks away from them. “Everyone in my family dies.”

_ Not all of them _ . But Jaime can’t tell them about Jon yet. It would mean telling them about herself, and she isn’t prepared for it. 

“Rhaegar was kind?” Jon ventures.

Jaime sits back against the wall. “He loved music....”

***

Even with her hair shorn and darkened, Daenerys is a beauty. She accepts the attention with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and she gently turns all her young suitors away. She flinches at those who are too persistent or aggressive, but Jon or Jaime are always there to send them along.

Jaime leaves the two of them to play cards and heads to the inn for a night to herself. She takes the time to change her clothes, nothing decadent, but she does wear a skirt. She wears her veil as well, and Jon flips her a coin as she prepares to leave. 

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” he tells her solemnly. Then he cracks a smile because it’s barely enough for a single drink let along anything else. 

She leaves the children to their evening. The innkeeper nods to her when she comes in. Jaime studies the coin Jon gave her and decides maybe there are some cards in her evening as well. She finds a group of men she doesn’t recognize, she wouldn’t want to swindle the locals, and joins them. 

By the time they’ve drunk three rounds, her one coin has turned into several. She has no desire to see their disappointment turn to anger so she takes her modest winnings and leaves. She laughs a little at herself. Jaime Lannister, who joined the Queensguard at 17, backing down from a potential fight. Her father would disown her. 

Of course, he probably already has. Either he thinks she’s dead or she abandoned the family. Only one of those would be acceptable to him. 

“Is that a Naath veil in Lorath? Come, show me a butterfly’s beauty.” 

Jaime turns to the man’s voice, her hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to “suggest” he find someone else to shower in his attentions. She freezes when she catches a good look at him. Dark hair, scruff on his chin but not a full beard, the smirk of a man used to getting what he wants. Oh, she’d recognize this flirt anywhere. 

“Is that how a prince speaks to a woman he doesn’t know?”

Prince Oberyn straightens out of his slouch. “You know who I am?”

“What business does a prince of Dorne have in Lorath?” Is he searching for Daenerys? Is he searching for  _ Jon _ ? The boy was born in Dorne even if Ned Stark swore only two living people knew. The world is a large place. She doesn’t like that someone she recognizes is intruding on the life she’s building here. 

“The same business I have everywhere.” He wraps an arm around her waist. 

She slaps his arm and he quickly steps away. He eyes her, curious, but not as though he’s trying to figure out who she is. “Apologies. I should have asked first.”

“Most women hear you’re a prince and spread their legs for you?” Jaime guesses.

A slow smile takes over Oberyn’s face. “It doesn’t usually take that much. I hear I have a certain charm.”

“A certain arrogance.” Jaime laughs which probably doesn’t take much sting out of the accusation. “I’ll leave you to your princely pursuits. Though, Lorath is known for it’s fishing. Perhaps you’ll have better luck luring than hunting.”

Oberyn bows. “I thank you for you advice.”

She laughs again, less harsh this time, and slips away. She takes a circuitous route back to their lodgings. She needs to figure out why Oberyn is here and if they need to move. When she returns to the room, Daenerys and Jon are asleep on the large bed. Their cards are scattered between them, and Jaime feels old as she takes the smaller of the beds. 

Gods, is she tired of running.

***

Jon doesn’t seem surprised when Jaime warns them to keep their things packed and be on alert. Daenerys is still new to their life, and she doesn’t mask her disappointment at the thought of having to leave. 

Jaime’s reluctant to leave for her training, but she knows she can’t lock them in a room for the rest of their days. If Oberyn looks to be a threat then they’ll leave and start somewhere new. But Jon and Daenerys both deserve to live not hide away. 

At the training school, Jaime has different weapons lined up. Today, they work spears. Her pupils struggle to treat it as an extension of their body rather than a separate instrument. She patiently corrects their form then, after the third time, impatiently corrects it. 

“You are not poking a fire,” she says. “You are stabbing a man.”

“Perhaps they need a demonstration.”

Jaime holds back her groan at the familiar voice. She looks up to see Oberyn swagger into her training grounds. He plucks one of the training spears from the rack and makes a face. “No wonder they struggle. This is a shit weapon.”

“The pointy end still works,” she says.

“That’s what they say about me.” He winks at the innkeeper’s daughter. She flushes. 

“Would you like to give a demonstration of your prowess?” Jaime drawls. 

Oberyn twirls the spear. “Would you do me the honor of being my partner?”

Jaime hasn’t had a real fight in far too long. She picks up her own spear, of much higher quality than the others and smirks.

“Ah, it’s all in how you use it,” Oberyn tells her.

“Uh huh.” Jaime jabs to test how he’ll react. He moves gracefully out of the way, quick, which is something she’ll have to be aware of. He lunges next, most likely doing a similar test. She meets his spear with her and turns the point away with the shaft. She doesn’t cede any ground, and genuine appreciation fills his gaze. 

“You have training.”

“I spent some time with the Unsullied.”

His eyebrows climb up as they circle each other. “Sounds dreadfully boring.”

“Only a man would think there’s only one way to please a woman.”

He strikes and she spins with the attack until they’re switched places. “Are you often so cruel to visitors?”

She doesn’t bother answering him. His pride isn’t hurt and if he needs someone to warm his bed, there will be plenty of women here willing. He pokes her with the point of his spear, but she dances out of reach before he can do any damage. She smacks his fingers with the shaft of hers, and he grunts and abandons his teasing to really fight. 

Before long, they’re both sweating. Jaime’s muscles burn in a way she’s missed. She practices plenty on her own, and sometimes she can bring Jon here for a spar, but Oberyn is the closest to an equal she’s fought since before the Dothraki. 

The jump in and jump apart. They knock aside testing blows and fight off real ones. Spears force a distance so there’s no grappling, but Jaime wishes for it. She would cast aside her spear and tackle him to the ground if only to dirty his fancy robes. 

Her throat burns with the exercise by the time he finally disarms her. But when he points his spearhead at her, she darts under it and snaps the shaft over her knee. Now she has the pointy end and he only has splinters. 

He stares at her in shock before he throws his head back and laughs. “A faulty weapon, indeed.” He wipes the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Come, fierce warrior, what do they serve to drink around here?”

Dea, the innkeeper’s daughter, darts forward with a flask for each of them. Jaime’s is juice, freshly squeezed. Oberyn’s must be as well because he seems surprised. Jaime gestures to the weapons around them. “It’s best to keep all our wits about us when the tools for harm are so abundant.”

“A warrior and a poet.” Oberyn’s gaze slides over her, but he doesn’t make any move toward her. “I’m half in love with you already.”

“You should go down the road. I’m sure you can get a hot bath and a good meal. Dea, would you be as kind to show our guest the way?”

Dea smiles up at him, dimples and all. Oberyn will also have a willing bed partner if that’s what he seeks after a good bout. Oberyn doesn’t lose his good cheer as Jaime subtly nudges him along. He finishes his juice and holds an arm out to Dea. “Would you do the honor of escorting me?”

Dea giggles and helps him out. 

Jaime turns to the rest of her class. They stare at her in awe. They still aren’t perfect when they go through their forms, but she can tell they’re trying.

***

“I heard there was some excitement at the training grounds today,” Jon says at dinner.

Jaime grunts and focuses on eating. 

Jon’s smile grows. “I heard there was a man seeking to court you with his...spear play.”

Jaime kicks Jon under the table while he laughs and even Daenerys smiles. “It was hardly courting. Besides which, I’m uninterested.”

The teasing smile slips from Jon’s face. “I know you’re not my true mother,” he begins.

Jaime leans back in her chair, interested to see where  _ this  _ is going.

Jon takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders. “But you have been my mother in deed and action since I was given to you. You’ve given up everything for me, but I’m a man grown now. If you want to…You should think to yourself first sometimes.”

He’s a sweet boy. A bit of an idiot, but sweet. “And you think letting a man stick his cock in me will make me happy?”

Jon chokes on his next breath. Daenerys flushes a mottled red and Jaime winces, belatedly remembering that she has royalty at her fucking table. “Forgive my language. Your heart is in the right place, Jon, but I am truly uninterested.”

This appears to the night for uncomfortable talks, however, because Jon’s resolve only seems to grow. “You have been a good mentor. A good mother.” He grows flustered but soldiers on. “Above all of things, you have taught me to be kind and considerate, especially toward women.”

Jaime has a very bad idea of where this is headed. She stands up, but she doesn’t flee the room, and Jon takes it as permission to continue. “If anyone has ever harmed you in this manner--”

Here, Jaime has to put an end to this before either one of them end up irrevocably embarrassed. “I was once a guard,” she says. Jon immediately falls quiet, eager for stories of her youth. Daenerys is quietly interested as well, as if looking for the answer to Jaime’s behavior at her wedding. Jaime turns away from both children. “I was sworn to protect a woman. But there was one person I was not permitted to protect her from, and it was when he was there that she needed my services the most.”

“What happened?” Jon asks.

“One day, her husband planned to do something I could not abide, and I killed him. My lady died in childbirth not long after.” Jaime turns back around. “And then I found you. Or, rather, your uncle found me.”

“Will you tell me about him?” Jon asks, hesitant, as if he thinks she’s rebuff him.

“Truthfully, I don’t know much about him.”

“His name?” Jon asks with a flash of a smile.

“Not today.” She thinks on what she can give him. “Some call him the most honorable man in Westeros. His original plan was to pass you off as his bastard, but I doubt anyone would have believed it.”

“I was wanted?”

“Very much so. Unfortunately, you were stuck with me, and I have given you none of the comforts of a steady home.”

“But you’ve given me adventure. And you’ve raised me true.”

Jaime feels an embarrassed flush creep up her cheeks. 

“I’m proud to call you mother.”

“Stop it,” Jaime tells him. 

“I think it’s quite sweet,” Daenerys says. There’s envy in her beautiful features, but it doesn’t harden them. “Will you ever return to Westeros?”

“I’m not sure.” She’s spent almost half her life in Essos now. Would anyone recognize her if she returned? If she requested an audience with the queen would her sister recognize her? Would her father? She’s afraid the answer is yes. She’s even more afraid for the answer to be no. “I know you both have dreamed of Westeros, but it’s dangerous there.”

“It’s dangerous here,” Jon points out.

“It would be worse there. Half the people would want Daenerys dead. The other half would seek to use her in a plot to take the throne.”

“I don’t wish to be used that way again,” Daenerys says. “But I would like to see my homeland.” She looks out the window a moment. “I’m still young. There’s plenty of time.”

“Though now it’s time to retire,” Jaime says. Hopefully they can all put this conversation behind them and never return to it again. 

On the way upstairs, she tousles Jon’s hair.

***

Jon leaves on a multi-day fishing expedition. His skill with a harpoon has grown, making him something of a legend in the short time they’ve been here. He’s quick to pick up different weapons even if he always returns to his first love, the sword. But the Lorathi captain has decided Jon’s good enough for them to hunt a large whale beast. 

Jaime does her best not to worry, but she has vowed to burning this fucking island to the ground if her ward survived the Rebellion only to be brought down by a sea creature.

“Jon will be fine,” Daenerys says on the third night. Her voice is still soft, a highborn lilt to it that she’ll probably never lose. 

“A whale would change our fortunes.” The mistress of their lodgings say. She sets a bowl of hearty stew in front of them and joins them for their meal. With the men off at sea, they take most their meals together now. “Food, fuel, bones. Did you know the ladies across the sea wear clothes made of whale bone?” She scoffs at the Westerosi foolishness.

“Bones?” Daenerys echoes. She shakes her head, no doubt imaging fearsome lady-warriors in armor made of their enemies.

“Whale bone corsets,” Jaime says. Fortunately, she never had to wear one of the monstrosities. “They’re supposed to narrow the waist and create a more flattering figure. In reality, they squeeze the breath out of a woman’s body so she can’t protest her husband or run if needed.”

The lady of their lodgings, T’Ghara, laughs and points her spoon at Jaime. “Is that how you ended up here? Stabbed your husband with your bone dress and ran?”

“Something like that.” Jaime returns her smile, because it’s an easy reputation to wear. Husband-slayer is better than kingslayer. Besides, maybe T’Ghara will stop offering to rent out a third room so Jaime has private chambers to bring back any men who catch her eye. 

“A whale would be a great bounty?” Daenerys prods.

T’Ghara nods. “The whole village will turn out to help. It will not bring lasting happiness, but you might be able to buy a place of your own. With three bedchambers.” She winks and laughs again when Jaime just rolls her eyes. 

***

Daenerys spends her evenings at the inn, seated in the corner with a harp Jon presented to her after his first successful fishing expedition. He blushed when he gave it to her, but it was Jaime he glanced at, expecting censure for a frivolous gift.

When it had only been Jaime and Jon, she would have scolded him for something like that. What did two soldiers have need of a harp for? They barely even bought clothes, repairing what they had until it became absolutely necessary to replace them.

Their lives have changed since they took Daenerys from the Dothraki. They try to sleep places with a bed, try to spend longer in one place. Jaime pays attention to clothing and fashion, and Jon apparently has taken an interest in music. Or rather, he’s taken an interest in Daenerys’s interest. 

Illyrio must have taught her while he raised her in Pentos but as Jaime watches her fingers delicately pluck the strings, it reminds her of the girl’s brother. Rhaegar loved music, almost to a fault. Singers, harp players, drums, flutes. He would bring music makers from all over the realm so he could sit and listen. He learned the different instruments the same as he learned his weapons. 

He told Jaime once music was an escape for him. It took him away from Westeros and the thought of ruling, the threat of his father, and his duties as a husband. He crowned Lyanna Stark at the Harrenhal tournament with trumpets blaring and drums pounding. Maybe that’s why he passed over his wife for another woman. The music disrupted his brain. 

She knows it’s too generous an explanation. Rhaegar passed over his wife, because he saw something pretty, and no one ever denies a prince what they want. He saw Lyanna Stark and he took her, regardless of the consequences. And now the whole damn realm has suffered for it. 

Speaking of princes, it has been days since she saw Oberyn. Is it too much to hope he grew bored of Lorath and went elsewhere? 

A flute player sits beside Daenerys and the two of them play a haunting melody which takes all of Jaime’s attention. There are no words, only sounds, and yet her heart squeezes tightly and tears prickle at her eyes. Is this what Rhaegar meant when he called music enchanting? It weaves its way around you and makes you feel whether you want to or not. 

Jaime stalks out of the inn and down the street until she can’t hear the harp any longer.

***

Jaime’s in the midst of her morning session when a young boy runs into the training grounds. “They’re back!” he shouts. 

Everyone drops their weapons except Jaime. She puts hers away with the care they deserve, but she runs like the rest of them to the coast. There, several ships dot the horizon in. What seems like the whole island turns out to watch them sail in.

“Did that many go out?” Daenerys asks.

“No,” T’Ghara answers her. “But a great beast needs more than one little ship to haul it back. Come, we must bring the supplies.”

She says it loudly enough for all to hear and it’s a rush to their homes and rush back with knives and pots and anything else they might need as they take apart the whale. The ships haul the beast behind them in a sling. When they get as close as they can, ropes are affixed to the sling and all the Lorathi work together to haul the carcass upon their sands. 

Daenerys gasps and stares at the massive body. Jaime searches the boats for the living, and she allows herself one small sigh when she spots Jon on the ship. He jumps down and swaggers over to them, a confidence in him she’s only seen in the training grounds.

There’s a bruise under his eye but other than that, he looks well. Jaime hugs him tightly, and he stands stock still, shocked, before he hugs her in return. 

“Do I get the same welcome?” Oberyn asks, sauntering over. 

Jaime bares her teeth at him and both men laugh at her. Jon’s is slightly more friendly, and he pats Jaime’s shoulder as he steps back. “Oberyn was a fine companion.”

“It wasn’t his safety your sister and I prayed for at night,” Jaime says. She doubts anyone looking at their motley crew believes Jaime is mother to both kids or that Jon and Daenerys are related, but they persist in the lie. It makes it easier for the three of them to rent out one room. 

“It’s time to carve up your bounty,” Oberyn says. “From the way they speak of it, you’ll be a prince once we’re through.”

“I have no need of being a prince.” Jon’s embarrassment fades, leaving the stoic nature he must have inherited from his Stark side. “I want my family safe and happy.”

“We’re all safe,” Jaime says wondering how he’s so fucking northern when he grew up in Essos. “Happiness will follow. T’Ghara says they’ll most likely celebrate the bounty.”

“Oil, meat, blubber, skins. There’s so much of it.”

“And bones.” Daenerys’s soft voice appears behind Jaime. She hugs Jon, throwing herself into his arms. “Mother says the ladies across the sea wear corsets made of them. They squeeze their waists until men can span them with their hands.”

Jon looks puzzled. “Why would they want to look like they’re starving?”

Jaime laughs and Jon scowls as Oberyn joins in as well.

“People find all sorts of things beautiful,” Oberyn says. He tousles Jon’s hair and grins even wider as Jon looks at him like a disgruntled cat. “One day, a woman might even find  _ you  _ beautiful.”

“What kind of beauty do they value in Dorne?” Jon asks.

Jaime glances at Oberyn, wondering how much he’s told Jon while they were at sea together. It’s Jaime’s fault, she doesn’t speak much of Westeros, and it’s created a hunger in Jon to know where he came from. He knows he was born in Dorne, knows it’s one of the Seven Kingdoms, but she’s never seen the sense in telling him about a place they’ll never step foot in. 

“We value fierce women, those who fight by our side, and raise our children with pride.” Oberyn answers Jon, but he stares at Jaime, and she’s glad she doesn’t blush like some maiden. 

“You have found many such women in Dorne,” Jaime says. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“We are a loving people, and we share that love freely.”

“He has many daughters,” Jon whispers loudly to Daenerys.

Daenerys’s eyes widen. She lowers her voice as well even though both Oberyn and Jaime can hear them. “And how many wives?”

Oberyn laughs, long and loud, and Daenerys’s pale skin turn turns red. “None. I roam the lands, unable to put down roots. A wife deserves more than that.”

“You’re like Mother, then,” Daenerys says with a look to Jaime.

Every time Daenerys calls her that, something sharp stabs Jaime’s chest. With Jon, it was different. Ned Stark handed him to her as a babe, bid her raise him and protect him. But Daenerys, her true mother was a woman Jaime was sworn to protect. A woman Jaime failed in all the ways that mattered. Jaime Lannister is not Rhaella Targaryen. 

She feels Oberyn’s interested gaze on her, and she wants to be rid of it. The man is a threat to their safety and security. The sooner he’s gone from this island, the better protected they’ll be. “Oberyn is a prince.” Both Jon and Daenerys gasp at this. Oberyn looks mildly annoyed. “He is nothing like me.”

“I’ve wondered how a woman-at-arms in Lorath knows so much about me,” Oberyn says.

“I told you, I’ve trained all over Essos, and you have a reputation.” Jaime stares him head on, her blonde hair pinned back, a scar on her cheek and dares him to recognize her as the second daughter of Tywin Lannister. “The Red Viper of Dorne, who slithers his way into the beds of men and women alike. A second son who has the freedom to travel and does.”

“I’ve been learning of you.” Oberyn steps closer to her. He’s taller than her, and he reeks of fish and the salt of the sea. “The fearsome warrior mother who has learned all the ways of fighting Essos has to offer in order to protect her children from whatever danger finds them.”

Jaime looks over at Jon who at least has the decency to look ashamed for spreading ridiculous lies. 

“What are you doing standing around?” T’Ghara demands. “Come help!”

Jaime steps away from Oberyn and brings her two wards to the great beast.

***

They don’t want the whale to rot and lose its great bounty so they don’t hold a celebration until it’s been picked clean and even its bones have been distributed. But once the labor is done, the inn is transformed into a dancing hall. There is food and drink and music, and Jaime reluctantly goes.

She listens to the men recount the story Jon was too modest to tell, how he manned the harpoon bow and struck the whale right through its eye. Many a ship has been lost to a wounded whale, angry and lashing out. But Jon’s aim was true and didn’t give the beast time to launch a counterattack. 

She’s in her men’s clothes, knowing Oberyn would be here and not wanting him to see her in a dress and associating her with her veiled self. The man is crafty and far too inquisitive. She hopes with the hunt concluded and the celebration done, he’ll sail to his next destination. 

Daenerys has forgone the harp for a different stringed instrument. They call it a banjo here. It creates livelier music, and she taps her foot as she plucks the strings and people dance, merry with their good fortune.

Jon’s been dragged onto the dancefloor by women and girls who want to giggle about his accomplishments. His face is red from dancing and embarrassment, but he doesn’t deny a single request, though he only dances with each partner once. At the end of each song, he politely drops his hands and sees his partner back to her family or friends.

There’s a particularly aggressive woman who touches Jon more than he likes, and Jaime grins as Daenerys ends this song much earlier than the ones before it.

“Ah, now I see their mother’s influence.” Oberyn joins Jaime’s silent vigil. He offers her a cup and when she takes a sniff, she doesn’t smell the tang of spirits. A cautious sip proves it to be juice, light and sweet. Oberyn takes her acceptance of her drink as acceptance of him. “They guard each other well.”

“When you are a small family, you learn the importance of looking out for one another.” 

“Your son is respectful,” Oberyn says as Jon turns his head so a kiss lands on his cheek rather than his lips. “Another lesson from you?”

“You saw him on the ship, and I’m sure you know he trains with me when he has the time. He could best anyone here in a fight save myself and perhaps you.” Oberyn makes an indignant sound but Jaime only smiles and moves on. “Many in this world would argue the strength to take something means you have the right to it.”

“You did not last long amongst the Dothraki, did you?”

Jaime laughs quietly, remembering their brief time with the horse lords and how it ended by freeing the khal’s bride. “No. It’s important to be open to other cultures and ways of life, but it’s equally important not to lose sight of yourself.”

“A philosopher?” Oberyn hums as he sips his own drink. “The more time I spend with you, the more interesting you are.”

“Perhaps I should find another corner to spend my night in, then.”

“You are safe from me.”

_ Only because you don’t know who I am. _ “Where will your next adventure take you, Prince Oberyn?”

He puts some space between them as if he heard her rejection and accepts it. “I’m not sure yet. What about yours? You’ve trained with the Unsullied, but you haven’t truly learned the spear until you go to Dorne.”

Jaime shakes her head. “I like Essos. No one asks too many questions. Except for princes who are too full of wanderlust to stay home.”

“And what answers are you afraid of giving?”

She meets his gaze steadily and raises her cup to her lips.

***

She’s relieved when Oberyn leaves only a few days after the celebration. Part of her is disappointed, there aren’t many people she can talk to here and feel understood. Jon and Daenerys are her constant companions, but they’re her wards and far too young for her to share her burdens with.

Oberyn is a fellow warrior, a man who isn’t tied down to any place. He by choice, her by circumstance, but still, it was a connection. She’ll find others to talk with, and it’s safest for him to be gone. She knows he mourns his sister, she can see it in the dark circles under his eyes and the way he grows silent sometimes. She almost brought his hand to her cheek so he could touch the scar she has.

But she has her life where Elia does not. She saved Elia from Gregor Clegane’s cock but not his sword, and it was her father who ordered the Martell princess and her children brutally murdered. If Oberyn knew who she was, he would kill her and not think to ask questions until after. 

“He encouraged me to write to him,” Jon admits, one day, many moons since Oberyn departed. He’s staring at a scrap of paper, a quill tapping against the table. “I don’t know what to say.”

“He’s a man who loves adventure. Tell him about one. How about the time the Unsullied wanted to make you one of them?” Jaime flashes a smile. Jon’s face grows pale and even though she can’t see, she’s sure he’s crossing his legs under the table. “How about Naath? How we thought we’d found paradise, but the butterflies were actually monsters?”

Jon takes a deep breath and his sigh is far darker than the situation warrants. “Have you noticed all our stories begin happily enough and end miserably?”

“We’re alive,” Jaime points out.

“Aye.” He sounds tired as he drags a hand down his face. “I’ll tell him of Braavos. How you’re the best water dancer the masters have ever seen. Maybe next time we see him, he’ll ask you for the right kind of dance.”

“Don’t put ideas in his head,” Jaime says absently. Then, “What makes you think we’ll see him again?”

Jon shrugs. “He seemed lonely on the boat. When he didn’t have an audience he was sad. He’s looking for something.”

“He’s a prince. He could have anything he wanted.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Dany’s a princess. Titles are just words. He told me about his sister.”

“He won’t ever get her back.”

“No, the dead are gone. And the living have the burden of carrying their memories.” Jon sighs and taps the paper again. “This is depressing.”

“Ask him if he’s going to bring whalebone corsets to Dorne.”

Jon looks at her as if he’s going to dismiss the idea before he shrugs and dips his quill in ink.


	3. Chapter 3

The leave Lorath behind for mountains and sheep tending. Daenery learns to weave, and they all wear clothes made by her own hand. She’s delighted with dyes and her hair is pink when Jon returns from a days-long journey to the nearest city. 

His face is set in a grim line as he hands a correspondence to Jaime. The seal has been broken, but she recognizes the seal of House Martell. She opens the letter. She skims it as if the scratching means anything to her. Oberyn and Jon have taken to writing about their adventures, but Oberyn also gives Jon lessons in the houses of Westeros, lessons Jon shares with Daenerys, both of them eager to learn about the place they were born.

Jaime hasn’t put a stop to it, because they’ll learn, one way or another, and she doesn’t want to be the one to tell them. She left behind alliances and scheming and politics when she took Jon across the Narrow Sea. Only, with Jon as her ward, she could never be truly free of it. And it looks like the end of their quiet life has come. 

Daenerys reads over Jaime’s shoulder. “The Usurper is dead. That’s what Viserys called him too. Are Dorne loyalists?”

Jaime shrugs even as her stomach twists with the news. “Dorne married their princess to Rhaegar, and he passed her over for Lyanna Stark. I’m sure they haven’t forgiven the slight, but since Robert’s Rebellion ended with the sack of King’s Landing and the murder of Elia and her children, they have no love for the new regime.”

Jaime can feel a headache building behind her eyes. “I need to travel for a bit. Will you two be safe while I’m gone?” They’re higher up than the Dothraki like to go on their raids, and Jon can easily hold his own against five men. Still, Jaime doesn’t like the thought of leaving them to their sheep and little hut. 

“Of course,” Jon says.

“Where will you go?” Daenerys asks.

“To a major city to hear what else is being said.”

Once she makes her decision, she leaves without hesitating. As much as she wants to ride her horse hard, she takes care to rest them both. In Pentos, she puts on a dress and wears a veil and slips through the city to gather what information she can.

Robert Baratheon is dead, gored by a boar which drunk men laugh at. His wife is Queen Regent until Joffrey comes of age. Jaime has a nephew. She tries not to think too much on her family, the people she left behind in order to raise and protect this new family of hers. 

If the realm is stable, there’s no need to fear. No one will come looking for a Targaryen heir up in the mountains. Robert died of natural causes, his own fucking pride and stupidity, and succession is being passed down the way it should. Oberyn’s note wasn’t a call to war, simply a fact shared with someone cut off from Westeros and desperate for news.

She stays in Pentos long enough to learn Viserys was trampled by a furious khalasar. She finds nothing about Jorah Mormont or the disgraced khal Drogo. She grins at the rumors of a rival khalasar who stole Drogo’s bride. She tempers the smile when she realizes there are still those here who whisper of a lost Targaryen. 

But she’s grown good at hiding Targaryens and no one expects Daenerys to have hair the color of swine. Not that it’s the same shade of pink. It’s more pink, though, given the frequency of their baths, perhaps it’s as dirty as a pig would be. 

On Jaime’s last planned day in Pentos, a man tacks notices to every building he finds. Curious, Jaime allows the swell of people to catch her and carry her to one of the notices. Someone snatches it from the wall and reads it aloud. What she hears turns her stomach.

By decree of Stannis Baratheon, the royal children are conceived by Cersei Lannister and her cousin Lancel and therefore not true heirs. 

Seven fucking hells.

***

She rides back to their mountain home at the same pace she left it, but the journey seems shorter with everything that weighs on her mind. The realm is preparing to go to war over the Iron Throne.  _ Again _ . If ever there were a time to bring her charges home, this would be it. 

She’s known since Ned Stark handed a bundle of blankets to her with a mop of dark hair she would tell Jon the truth one day. It would be hard, on both of them, but he would understand. Daenerys is different. It’s cowardly, but Jaime doesn’t want to tell her.

When she returns, Jon offers to care for the horse as Daenerys steps forward to help Jaime rinse off. It isn’t a proper bath, but she’s cleanish by the time they sit down to eat. Both children--gods, they aren’t children anymore are they?--watch her with intent but don’t press for answers.

Finally, once Jaime’s stomach is full, she pats her dagger to make sure it’s there and takes a deep breath. Jon sits up straighter as if he knows she has news.

“The Usurper is dead,” Jaime confirms. “And his brother claims the three heirs to the throne are not his brother’s children.”

“Fuck,” Jon mutters, too shocked to apologize to Daenerys for his language.

Jaime looks over at the pink-haired princess. “If you want to press your claim to the throne, now would be the time to do it.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks away, poised and graceful even with dirt smeared across her face and her clothes stinking of sheep shit. “You and Jon against everyone who would oppose me?” 

“There are still Targaryen loyalists in Westeros. If you wanted the throne, there would be people who backed you.”

“I must think,” Daenerys says. She rushes out of the one room hut, and Jaime doesn’t follow her.

Instead, she turns to Jon, and what is bound to be a much more difficult conversation. “I think it’s time I told you who your parents are.”

Jon shakes his head, shocking Jaime into silence. “They are dead. Knowing their names won’t change the life I’ve lived, and it won’t change the life I want to live. You are the only mother I claim. You say I was born in Dorne? Then I am Jon Sand. I am content with that.”

_ Are you?  _ Jaime wants to ask. Jon is smart, sometimes smarter than she gives him credit for. Perhaps he’s been putting pieces together and he knows enough that he doesn’t want to know more. She can’t blame him. And she’ll give him the honor of his choice.

Still, there’s one thing they need to establish. “You and Daenerys…” They’re both growing into their bodies and their desires and with only each other for company, Jaime can understand why they might turn toward each other. But, even if Jon doesn’t want to know the relation between them, they still share too much blood to lay with each other.

“I am proud to call her sister,” Jon says. There’s something firm in his voice, something final, but Jaime doesn’t heed it.

“She is a Targaryen. They’re known for wedding brother to sister.”

“Not this Targaryen,” Jon says. 

Jaime leans back in her chair and wishes for some strong spirits to wash away the taste of this conversation and this whole bloody ordeal. Figures even Robert Baratheon’s death fucks things up for her. “You are a man grown now, Jon. If Daenerys wishes to go across the Narrow Sea, I’ll go with her, but you can stay here. You can make whatever life for yourself that you want.”

“We’re a small family. It means we need to stick together. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see Westeros.”

And Daenerys may not choose to return.

***

Daenerys takes the sheep higher up the mountain to greener grass. When she returns, three days later, there’s a heaviness to her shoulders. “I’m not sure if I want the Iron Throne or if anyone wants me to have it. But I’d like to be somewhere we can get news easier.”

Jaime waits, patient. Daenerys clearly thought this through, and Jaime will give her the honor of listening. 

“I want to see for myself what kings clash for the right to rule. I want to measure myself against them. And I want to meet the people I would rule if I were to take the throne. Do you know somewhere in Westeros we’d be safe?”

_ There’s nowhere in Westeros we’d be safe. But it isn’t as if Essos is particularly safe either.  _ “We’ll go to Dorne,” Jaime says. “They don’t turn their noses up at women who fight or own land. We’ll blend in there as we have here, and we’ll get you your information. I’m afraid the pink will have to go. And we’ll have to call you something other than Daenerys.”

“Rysa,” she says. “I’ll dye it black. Maybe Jon and I will look more like siblings. I’ll try not to call you mother too often. I know you don’t like it.” Daenerys looks down, cowed, as if trying to make herself smaller, the way she did before her brother and the khal.

Jaime unclenches her hands, she doesn’t want to appear as a threat. “I knew your mother.”

Both Jon and Daenerys look up.

Jaime steps forward, and Daenerys doesn’t turn away this time. She allows Jaime to cup her cheek. “If I should fail to protect you, princess, it will only be because my body is dead on the ground. This I swear to you.”

Daenerys trembles. “You knew my mother?”

Jaime nods. Her throat feels too thick for words. She swallows and steps away. “One day, I’ll tell you about her. For now, we should find someone to sell our herd to and make our way to a port city.”

***

Daenerys sews their coin into their small clothes to protect it from raiders and thieves and they make their way toward a harbor. 

On the second day, Jon falls into step with Jaime. “We have a friend in Dorne. We don’t need to start new as we do here.”

“Prince Oberyn isn’t a friend. And it isn’t even a guarantee that he’s in Sunspear right now.”

“We can still try.” Jon glances at Daenerys where she rides on their single horse. “She’s our princess. She deserves better than whatever meager life we can scrape together for her.”

“ _ Seven hells _ . You’re writing the letter, but I’m dictating to you.”

“Of course.”

The message is short and simple.  _ The Whale-Slayer and his companions seek training in the way of the spear. If you would be amenable to sharing your knowledge, please meet our ship at Lemonwood upon our arrival. If you don’t wish us to take advantage of your hospitality, we will make our own way. _

Honestly, Jaime doesn’t expect anyone to meet them at the docks in Lemonwood. She knew Jon would write a letter in secret, it was best to give him her blessing and control what he wrote, but princes of Dorne have better things to do than entertain some nobodies from Essos. And, until she has a true measure of the landscape and its people, she doesn’t want Daenerys’s identity known. 

They take two days in Pentos to spoil themselves, hot baths all around, perfume and oils for Daenerys. They all have new clothes, nothing outrageous, but they’re clean and that itself is a blessing. They board a merchant ship, their passage secured after Jaime demonstrates her and Jon’s strength. Any pirates who happen upon them will regret their choice of target. 

It’s a long journey across the ocean, and Jaime’s plagued by nightmares for the first time in many years. She dreams of Aerys setting fire to the city. She dreams of Gregor Clegane splitting her with his greatsword at her father’s command. She dreams of Robert Baratheon dragging Jon and Daenerys before him and ordering Jaime to kill them. 

She blames the bags under her eyes and the paleness of her skin on the boat, but it’s obvious her unease grows the closer they draw to Dorne. The morning the land is in sight, she stands by the railing of the ship and stares at Westeros for the first time since she left it with a babe in her arms and her sword strapped to her hip. 

Jon and Daenerys stand on either side of her, silent in their study as well. They were both born here but neither have any real memory of the place. Jon has what bits he’s gleaned on their travels and Daenerys has whatever nonsense her brother and Illyrio filled her head with. 

She doesn’t ask what they know, her mouth too dry to speak. Somewhere, past a desert and some mountains and the fertile farmlands of the Reach is Jaime’s family. Does her sister know what their father did to put her on the throne? Does she know she’s queen because others died for it to come to pass?

And Tyrion. Her sweet little brother, unfairly despised by both her father and sister. He probably hasn’t fared well without Jaime, though she abandoned him long before she left for Essos. As soon as she swore herself to Queen Rhaella, her brother lost her protection. 

Jaime takes a deep breath and goes down below to put her face veil on. She doubts anyone can see a girl of seven and ten in the battleworn face of a woman, but she won’t take the risk. Daenerys joins her and wears a Naath veil for the first time. Her eyes crinkle, betraying her smile as she looks at Jaime. “I feel mysterious.”

Jaime gathers their things and they join Jon before descending to the smaller boat which will take them to shore. When they arrive, Daenerys thanks the rowers as Jon carries their belongings. Jaime sweeps the docks, relieved when she sees no sign of Oberyn. 

“Looking for someone, my lady?” A man in a light yellow tunic inclines his head in respect to Jaime then Jon and Daenerys. He’s younger than Jaime but not nearly as young as her wards. His skin is olive-toned, and there are laugh lines around his eyes as if all Dornish are as carefree as their prince. 

“No and I’m no lady.”

Jon makes a rude sound and steps in front of her. “We were hoping to meet Prince Oberyn here. We met in Lorath and he offered to train us in the way of spears. My mother is convinced it was a jest, but I asked her to write anyway.”

The man’s smile grows. “You must be the Whale-Slayer. It’s an honor to meet you.” He holds a hand out and grasps Jon’s forearm when Jon extends his own. “Ser Andrey Dalt. Please, come with me. Prince Oberyn told us to expect you. You are welcome to our home and our hospitality. May I escort the lady?” He turns his charming smile on Daenerys and both Jon and Jaime bristle.

Daenerys laughs, a light tinkling sound like chimes as the wind blows through them. “Rysa, if it pleases you, ser. Forgive my family, they’re quite protective.”

“You’ve traveled a long way.” He tucks her arm through his and leads the way down the docks. “Veils are a Naath custom if I’m not mistaken.”

“You know Essos well.”

“We do quite a bit of trading with the Free Cities. Citrus is our main export. We have the only crop of it in all of Westeros. Have you ever had marmalade, my lady?” 

“No, what is it?”

Jaime leaves them to their smalltalk. It seems safe enough. She keeps a careful eye on the market vendors and the people they share the road with. They seem happy to greet Ser Andrey and be greeted in return. They stare at Daenerys who is beautiful even in a simple gown and with her hair the wrong color. A fair number of people stare at Jon too, and his cheeks turn redder and redder as they go. 

“Rysa wants a place to settle down,” Jaime says. “You could too.”

“So could you.”

They glare at each other and resolve to let it go by mutual agreement. 

***

Ser Andrey--call me Ser Drey--Dalt is younger brother and heir to Ser Deziel Dalt, the Knight of Lemonwood. He gives them rooms to say in and offers to take them on a tour of the orchards tomorrow. He also invites them to dine with the household tonight. 

Daenerys is charmed and accepts which means Jaime and Jon both go even though both would prefer to fall into their beds and sleep. Lemonwood is a small holding, a knightly house rather than a lordly one, but both brothers are kind and generous, and their table is full of food. 

“Your sister tells me you are a fierce fighter,” Ser Drey tells Jon as he passes a plate of something he warns is spicy, even for Dornish tongues. 

“My sister flatters me,” Jon says, the lie falling smoothly from his tongue. “As sisters sometimes do.”

“Prince Oberyn says the same, and he isn’t your sister,” Ser Deziel says. “Is it true you battled a whale beast and won? There are rumors of a great white beast up north near Bear Island. It has lived for years and claimed the life of anyone who tried to defeat it.”

“Bear Island?” Daenerys asks.

“You’ve heard of it?” Surprise colors the elder knight’s tone. “It’s nearly as far from Essos as one can be.”

“I knew a man from there. Ser Jorah Mormont. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Ser Drey turns and spits on the ground. His brother chides him but there’s a hardness in his gaze. “Jorah Mormont was a slaver. Eddard Stark caught him at it and and the coward fled to Essos to continue the filthy business.”

“Was?” Jaime asks.

Daenerys sucks in a short breath.

“Forgive me,” Ser Deziel says. “You didn’t tell me how you knew him.”

Daenerys trembles for a man she barely knew, and Jaime wonders how she can be so kind after everything she’s been through. Jaime answers, sparing her from having to lie. “We came across him in Pentos. He was no friend of ours, simply a Westerosi face when we hadn’t seen one in quite some time.”

“Ah.” Ser Deziel inclines his head. “We don’t approve of slavery. My reaction was severe. Jorah Mormont met his end when an enraged khalasar sacked the manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis.”

Under the table, Jon clasps Daenerys’s hand, offering her strength. 

“Did you ever meet the Dothraki in your travels?” Ser Andrey asks.

“Meet is perhaps too kind a word,” Jaime answers. Eating with her veil on is a trick but she manages. The veil is there to hide her bared teeth when she smiles, to soften the set of her jaw when she longs to have a blade in her hand again. 

Ser Deziel nods and smoothly changes the subject.

***

By unspoken agreement, Jon and Jaime take shifts outside Daenerys’s room that night. It’s still the best rest she’s had in quite some time, and she’s rested enough for their tour of the lemon woods which give the holding its name. 

Once again, Ser Drey offers Daenerys his arm, and he offers her stories as they wander through the trees. She listens with rapt attention, soaking up every bit of information he imparts. Jaime and Jon follow behind.

At the end of the tour, they are in the orange groves now, Ser Drey plucks a fruit from one of the trees. He peels it expertly and offers it to Daenerys. She reaches for it before she casts a glance back at Jaime. Even with half her face covered, Jaime can read her guilt. 

“Say thank you and accept the gift,” Jaime says.

“Thank you.” Daenerys shares the orange with Jon, Jaime, and Ser Drey who moves to take a second before he accepts the slice she hands him with a smile. Daenerys’s eyes crinkle in a smile of her own but it fades quickly. “The Dothraki don’t have a word for thank you.”

Jaime’s heart clenches, fear for a life that didn’t come to pass. “I’m glad we didn’t stay long with them.”

Ser Drey looks over, curious.

“We traveled Essos, learning what there was to learn. Some places, their lessons weren’t worth keeping.” 

“And now you’ve come here to learn the spear. Prince Oberyn mentioned in his letter to us.”

“Will we see the prince soon?” Daenerys asks.

Ser Drey chuckles as if he’s used to women going starry-eyed over his prince. “I hope but dark news is keeping him at Sunspear.”

“Dark news?” Jaime asks.

Ser Drey glances at Daenerys. Jaime nods to Jon who escorts Daenerys back to the keep. Jaime lingers amongst the trees with Ser Drey. He waits until the two are out of sight before he answers. “Prince Oberyn sent a raven telling us to expect you in his stead. His brother sent one the day before with the news that Ned Stark was beheaded for treason.”

“Seven hells,” Jaime mutters.

Curious eyes seek her out. “You are Westerosi?”

“I was once.” Jaime rubs her eyes. She always had these distant plans of returning Jon to Ned one day. Once the boy was grown, a charge to be proud of, she’d return him to his family. But with Ned Stark dead...at least he has Daenerys. “Wait, treason?”

“He claimed Joffrey Baratheon was Joffrey Lannister.” Ser Drey doesn’t offer his arm to Jaime, but they begin to walk back together. “Ravens say he recanted and that his daughter pled for mercy but the king executed him anyway.”

“His daughter?” Jaime asks.

“She’s still in King’s Landing. She was betrothed to Joffrey, but I doubt it’ll hold up with the treason and execution and everything.”

“She’s a hostage, then.” Jaime curls her hand around the hilt of her favorite dagger. Ned Stark had been solemn when he handed Jon to her.  _ Protect him with your life and whatever honor you might still have _ . He was a sanctimonious shit, but he was a good man. 

“There’s not much to be done, I’m afraid. Prince Oberyn probably wants to storm the Red Keep to rescue her. Lannisters don’t treat their hostages well. Especially the women.”

Jaime’s stomach turns. “I imagine if Joffrey is a Lannister and not a Baratheon then Dorne won’t support his reign.”

“Dorne is one of the Seven Kingdoms,” Ser Drey says which is a surprisingly diplomatic answer. Jaime knows better than to think she’ll get more out of him and lets it drop.


	4. Chapter 4

They have been in Lemonwood for two sennights when Prince Oberyn rides in to greet them. He brings with him quite the entourage, a woman Ser Drey whispers is his paramour, Ellaria Sand, as well as his eight daughters, also Sands.

Prince Oberyn pauses when he spots the three foreigners. He touches his own chin before he shakes himself. “I should’ve known the maiden with a fierce tongue was the same warrior with fierce fighting skills.” He captures Jaime’s hand and raises it to his lips. 

She scowls at him and turns her attention to the woman next to him. A smile curves the Dornish woman’s lips as she also catches Jaime’s hand and kisses it. 

Daenerys giggles and willingly gives her hand over to the prince. He kisses it but doesn’t release her hand quite yet. “You didn’t wear a veil the last time I saw you.”

“I didn’t want to lose our customs when we crossed the ocean.” 

Oberyn touches her hair. “And this?”

“So my brother and I would be a matched set.” She leans into Jon who eyes Oberyn with suspicion. 

“If I’d known this is how you’d receive my family I would not have pressed so hard to alert you of our presence.”

“Your family’s virtue is safe from me,” Oberyn assures him. “I would not take anything that wasn’t freely given. Fortunately, I have a woman who is  _ very  _ generous to me.” He wraps an arm around Ellaria’s waist and reels her in. Ellaria playfully bats at his chest but she tilts her chin up for a kiss. 

Jaime grinds her teeth at the display. Daenerys is a  _ child _ , she doesn’t need to see this. But then Jaime remembers that likely Daenerys’s only experience with this kind of thing was the coupling at her wedding and what her husband threatened her with. Perhaps it isn’t so bad for her to see that sometimes people enjoy this nonsense. 

“They could be like this for a while.” One of the daughters shrugs as if to say  _ get used to it _ . “I’m Obara, the oldest. Has anyone shown you how to make lemonade yet?”

When Daenerys shakes her head, four of the sisters clasp her hands and hurry her toward the orchards. Jon trots after them, leaving Jaime with the prince, his paramour, and his four remaining children. 

She turns on her heel but doesn’t make it far.

“Drey and Dreziel tell me you’ve been quiet, pleasant guests,” Oberyn says.

Ser Drey shrugs at Jaime’s glare, and she can’t fault him for providing information to his prince. 

“We don’t wish to be an imposition. If you hadn’t ordered us to stay, we would have relieved the Dalts of our presence long ago.”

One of the daughters snorts inelegantly. “I see why you like her, father.”

“Hush, Nym.” He flicks his daughter’s forehead but she doesn’t seem chastised. “You’ve never hesitated to defy me before.”

Jaime rolls her eyes, aware he can see it. “In Essos where you were simply a man and I simply a woman. Here, you’re a prince, and I’m an armed guest. It’s been a long time since my feet have touched Westerosi soil, but I’m not a complete barbarian.”

“What brings you here?” Oberyn begins walking. Ellaria hangs off one arm but before he can offer Jaime the other, Nym claims Jaime for herself. 

“Jon was born in Dorne. He’s almost a man. We decided it was time for him to see his homeland. And we were tired of looking over our shoulders for raiders or slavers or Dothraki. Of course, I hear Westeros has problems of its own.”

Oberyn sighs, his playful smile slipping away. “Ned Stark’s death is a blow. I’ll never forgive his sister for what Robert’s Rebellion did to mine, but their friendship held the kingdoms together. Rumors say his son has called the Northern banners and they march on King’s Landing to rescue his sisters.”

“Sisters?” Jaime hadn’t heard there were two.

“Other whispers tell me the Lannisters only have one. Still one sister too many.” A dark cloud settles over Oberyn’s face. “But I didn’t come here for sadness. On behalf of my brother, Prince Doran, I invite you and your family to Sunspear.”

“For what?”

Nym laughs, loud and bright as her father pouts. 

“As guests of the royal family. You want to learn spears? What better teacher than myself? I am a second son. I can spend my time as I wish. And I, or any number of my daughters, can take Jon to where he was born. You can learn to love this land again.”

Jaime feels caught out, pinned in place by his words. She turns away before he can steal the truth from her mind. “I love Jon and I love Rysa. I care nothing for land.”

“Of course,” Oberyn says.

They walk the rest of the way in silence.

***

They pack up again and move east to Sunspear. When they arrive at the old palace, which is grand given its age, servants try to take their bags from them but Jon grips them tightly.

“We’re used to managing ourselves,” Jaime says, unsure why she’s the one in charge of smoothing things over. Probably because Jon is scowling and Daenerys is too busy staring at the grandeur around her. 

Fortunately, no one takes offense and they’re shown to their rooms then let be. 

“Want to explain?” Jaime asks.

Jon looks around then steps close until even if there were spies in the walls they couldn’t see the bag between them. He opens it, moves some clothes around until Jaime sees--

The fucking dragon eggs.

Seven hells.

“I’ll hide them,” Jon promises. “But they belong to Rysa. I couldn’t leave them behind.”

_ You sentimental fool _ . Jaime cuffs his neck but pulls him in for a hug. “You’re a good kid. I’m still going to kick your arse on the training grounds tomorrow.”

“Not if we use swords.” Jon smirks, cocky, and deservedly so, his skill with a blade improves with leaps and bounds. It must be because he comes by it on both sides, Rhaegar was known for his skill with a blade and Lyanna Stark was infamous for hers, sneaking out to practice behind her father’s back. 

“Brat.” She pinches his ear and laughs as he yelps.

She leaves him to his hiding and slips out the door to distract anyone who would interrupt him. Once everything is hidden, they part ways for baths and new clothes so they can join the royal family for an evening meal.

Jaime’s surprised when Ellaria Sand appears to show her the way. The woman is stunning in her dress and her smile says she knows it. She winds her arm around Jaime’s as if Jaime is actually a knight. “Your little one stares at Oberyn and I.”

The woman is beautiful, as beautiful as Cersei. Is she as calculating? Jaime has seen the devotion she shows not only to her true daughters but the others as well. If Daenerys wants someplace to call home then at some point they have to trust people. Jaime fucking hates it.

“She hasn’t had much opportunity to see men treat the women they desire with love or care. I can speak to her if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Ellaria’s stride falters, and but Jaime doesn’t let her fall. 

“You share the bed of a prince but you aren’t naive.” Jaime pauses so she can face the woman. “It wasn’t an easy life in Essos, and there is pain no matter what side of the Narrow Sea you’re on. I’ve given her no example to follow. She only looks to you with hope.”

“We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne,” Ellaria says. She smiles at the doubt on Jaime’s face. “I know you don’t believe and are slow to trust. Dinner tonight will help.”

Jaime’s questions are put on hold until they join the others for their meal. Ellaria sweeps in in her dress, Jaime wearing men’s clothes but nicer clothes than she’s worn in quite some time. She likes the movement provided by breeches and the secrecy afforded her by her veil. Perhaps is an odd contrast, man and woman, but no one here slights her for it. 

Ellaria bypasses both princes to bring her to where younger children sit at the end of the table. She’s introduced to Arianne Martell, the eldest child of Prince Doran and therefore heir of Sunspear, and her younger brother Trystane. With Trystane is his betrothed, Myrcella Baratheon. Or, if the rumors are to be believed, Myrcella Lannister. But no matter her father, her mother is Cersei which means this girl is Jaime’s niece.

Jaime’s voice sticks in her throat. She bows. The girl curtsies but she looks uncertain as Jaime isn’t introduced as knight or lady or anything else. She’s Jaime, not even a surname to go with it. 

“See?” Ellaria whispers as she draws Jaime back to the adults. “If the daughter of the Usurper and a  _ Lannister  _ is safe here then you don’t need to worry for your daughter.”

Moisture wells in Jaime’s eyes and she’s horrified to realize there are  _ tears  _ gathering without her permission. She clears her throat. “As if one can simply turn off worry.”

Ellaria offers a delicate shrug and sits Jaime next to her. “I will endeavor to be a good mentor in the areas I can. I ask that you do the same.”

“What can I offer your daughters that their father cannot?”

“Humility?” Tyene offers with a laugh. She plucks a grape from the bunch and pops it into her mouth. 

Jon and Daenerys sit at the far end of the table with the other children, and Jaime doesn’t like them so far away, but she realizes she’ll have to grow accustomed to it. They’re growing up.

***

She trains with Oberyn as Jon trains with his daughters. He’s well-matched as long as two or more of them take him on at once, but he seems happy for the challenge, and they’re pleased when he doesn’t balk at fighting women.

Jaime’s pleased with her own partner. They use spears again, but this time they both have finely crafted weapons. They’re 1-1 in their bouts when they break for a drink. 

“How did you come to have Princess Myrcella?” Jaime asks as she sips her juice. She’s offered wine every night, but no one pressures her and when she declines, there’s always juice for her to have instead. 

“A betrothal brokered by her Uncle Tyrion. He wanted her out of the city, what with the rumors swirling about her parentage and the likelihood of either Stannis Baratheon or Robb Stark marching on the city’s gates.”

“And what did Dorne receive?”

“A charming young lady for one of its most precious sons.” Oberyn grins and takes a swing of his own drink. “A chance to mend the relationship between Dorne and the rest of the kingdoms. I’m sure we’ll receive another overture soon. Tywin Lannister rules through his grandson, and he knows we have no love for him or his family. If it wasn’t a Baratheon marching on the city then maybe we’d join the fray. But our choices are Starks and Lannisters and Baratheons. The same families who fucked us over last time.”

Jaime hums. “You were fucked over by the Targaryens as well if I remember my history right. Is there any family you would support?”

“We don’t want the throne. We want to be left alone.”

Jaime raises her cup to him. “Here, here.”

***

They’re 2-2 when they’re sent inside to freshen up before the evening meal.

“We aren’t finished,” Jaime says. “One more to determine who wins.”

She expects Oberyn to agree, her competitiveness is only matched by his. But he grins and tosses her a towel. “Ah, but if I don’t leave you wanting why would you return to me tomorrow?”

Jaime pretends to retch and heads inside without him. 

***

Oberyn takes the seat next to her at dinner. He skims his fingers over her veil. “You fight with this, you eat with this, do you sleep with it as well?”

“I don’t see why my sleeping habits are any of your business.”

“It’s a new addition for Rysa. I don’t recall her wearing one in Lorath. I don’t recall her being your daughter then either.”

“Careful,” Jaime warns.  _ If you know too much you’re a liability _ .

“I have never been careful a day in my life,” he says but he drops the subject.

***

“Is it because of your scar?” Oberyn asks after an afternoon of training, swords today, because Jaime won’t allow herself to get rusty. “Is that why you always hide your face?”

The top of her scar is visible even with the veil. She stares the man down as she unhooks the small piece of cloth to bare the whole thing to him. She dares him to flinch, challenges him to touch. 

“Did you enter the fighting pits as well?”

“I wasn’t a second son galavanting through the East. I had a son from the moment I stepped foot in Essos. I didn’t do anything so foolish as gamble with my life. The scar is from before. I was too late to protect my lady”  _ my princess  _ “A mark on my face is a small price to pay.”

Oberyn’s callused fingertips drag against the jagged line. He steps closer, smooths his thumb over her skin as if he can wipe the scar away. “A reminder. A promise for vengeance.”

“One day,” Jaime says. She will find Gregor Clegane, and he will pay the price for what he did to those under her protection. 

“We are not so different after all,” Oberyn says.

_ No, we aren’t _ .

***

Stannis Baratheon’s fleet bears down on King’s Landing, and Prince Doran takes the royal household to the water gardens. Distantly, Jaime knows Stannis goes to battle against her family and kill them. Yet, watching Jon get dunked by the Sand sisters and come up spluttering but laughing, she can’t spare too much thought for them.

Cersei got what she always wanted, to be queen, and father got what he always wanted, to be the most powerful man in Westeros. Even though last time he set his ambitions so high Aerys brought him low, raping his wife, stealing Jaime for the Queensguard, and passing Cersei over for his son’s bride.  _ Was it worth it _ Jame wants to ask. Were the years at the top worth what will be a tremendous fall from grace if Stannis wins?

And what of Tyrion? He is apparently Hand of King in father’s stead while Tywin fights the Stark boy in the North. Jaime wanted to be a knight all her life and then she saw the true colors of knights as they used their weapons and skills to hurt the people they protected. She loves fighting but she hates death. She’s so fucking sick of it.

“You can’t be glum while children play.” Oberyn finds his way to her side. 

“You can’t see my face.”

“I can see your eyes. And I can feel your sorrow.”

It’s an invitation to share, but she doesn’t accept it. She huffs as Jon’s dunked again. 

“Do you know the history behind the water gardens?”

“Tell me,” she asks.

“They were a gift from Prince Maron Martell to his bride, Princess Daenerys Targaryen.”

Jaime stops breathing and hopes Oberyn doesn’t notice.

“The pools, the gardens, the terraces, he built this incredible beauty to welcome his future wife. It was when Dorne first joined the Seven Kingdoms. They say it was blistering hot on the day Princess Daenerys invited the servant children to play in the water alongside the highborn. It’s a tradition we hold to even now. Anyone can come here to play.”

Loreza, the youngest of the sisters, leaps on Jon’s back and he staggers at the shock but doesn’t go down. Dorea, the second youngest, clambers onto Obara’s back and Jaime grins as they play a game Jaime used to play as a child. Water jousting. 

“We lost this generation’s Daenerys too soon.” Prince Doran wheels over, assisted by Daemon Sand, Jaime’s favorite sparring partner after Oberyn. 

“She’s lost?” Jaime asks. She hopes no one can hear the pounding in her heart.

“She was wed to Khal Drogo in exchange for his army. But she was stolen on her wedding night. Her brother was killed in the aftermath and no one has seen Daenerys since. It’s a shame. Princess Daenerys brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms. Daenerys reborn might have brought us back.”

Oberyn scoffs. “You were hoping for Viserys to do that.”

Doran shrugs.

“You don’t fault the Targaryens for Rhaegar’s slight against your family?”

“That is the path to never ending war,” Doran says. “Those who are guilty are held responsible. Their children are not.” He nods toward the pool where Myrcella and Daenerys play together. “Myrcella will not pay for the crime of her parents. Or her grandparents.”

_ Does that mean you won’t hate me for being a Lannister?  _ It’s a foolish thought. Jaime’s only safe without her name. Jon and Daenerys are only safe without her name. When Jaime left her father shouting after her in King’s Landing, she gave up who she was. She’s now an aged soldier with the battlescars to prove it. 

“I’m glad children can be children here,” Jaime finally says. “I’m afraid Jon or Rysa didn’t have this kind of innocence in Essos.”

“They will have it here,” Doran promises. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your moment.”

“It wasn’t a moment,” Jaime says. “Your brother was trying to draw me out of my dark thoughts. War brews north of us and even though you have your ocean and your mountains, I fear it will make its way here eventually.”

“Dorne withstood the dragons,” Doran tells her. “It can withstand everything else.”

***

She takes a walk with Doran after the evening meal, pushing his chair. There’s only one guard with them, Daemon Sand again. It’s a tremendous show of trust for Doran to put himself in her hands like this. She isn’t sure what she’s done to deserve it.

“You are a mystery to my brother,” Doran says and Jaime’s glad he can’t see her, the way her shoulders tense and her breath draws short. “An attractive woman who doesn’t fall immediately into his bed. I’m glad of it. If he’s thinking of you then he isn’t thinking of revenge. Sometimes I worry it’s all he lives for.”

Jaime hums, unsure how to answer.

“Of course, when I tell him he should live for  _ living _ he scoffs and points to me as a warning. I have enjoyed my life, yes, and I’m suffering for it now, but it doesn’t take away any of the pleasures of my youth. He has known great tragedy, and I wish him to know something else before he dies.”

“He’s trained himself so when the time comes, he’s ready to kill the men who killed your sister.”

Doran sighs. “And he’s committed to it. I, however, seek a long-lasting revenge. You can imagine my disappointment when our plans for Viserys fell through. He was to wed my niece.”

Jaime hides her shudder, sure that Daemon’s watching and listening to the whole conversation. 

“I play the long game. Oberyn plays the short one. However, I believe he’s altering his strategy for you. He told me about you when he returned from Essos. Both of you.” Doran chuckles. “The veiled woman who snapped at him for touching without permission and the warrior who kept him at spear or sword’s length.”

“Then you know I’m not teasing him.” She knows what they say of woman who flirt and flirt but offer nothing on the other side. “I have made my lack of interest clear.”

“Oh yes, whatever imagingings he has are his own doing and not yours. He is a man used to getting everything he wants. It’s good for him to meet someone immune to his charms.”

Jaime wouldn’t call herself immune. Sometimes she allows herself to think of stolen kisses and wandering hands, but she doesn’t want anything more than that. And men don’t like being given only half of what they believe they’re owed. 

“I’m not sure I’ve thanked you for your hospitality. Prince Oberyn extended the invitation, but it’s your home we’re a burden on.”

“Not a burden,” Doran assures her. “My men are impressed with you and your boy. I daresay the women are as well. We learn from you as you learn from us. It will be a sad day for Sunspear when you leave.”

“If we ever begin to overstay our welcome, I would ask that you tell us.”

“Of course. Now, steer me down the path. I want to look up and see the stars.”

***

Daenerys has not mentioned the Iron Throne since they landed in Dorne. Jaime doesn’t wish to rush her into a decision, but she does seek her out the morning after her talk with Doran. It’s clear Dorne is willing to put a Targaryen on the throne. All that matters is whether a Targaryen wants to be put there.

She finds Daenerys for an early morning walk. They don’t link their arms through each other’s the way Daenerys does with the Sand sisters, but they walk side by side toward the beach. Close to the water, the sand is hard and easier to walk on. 

“I’m happy here,” Daenerys confesses. The look she sends Jaime’s way implies guilt as if she shouldn’t be. “I’m afraid that any kind of change would ruin it.”

“Then we don’t change,” Jaime says. Out this far, she can see in all directions. No one followed them, no one is listening to them. “I’ve been speaking with the princes. They would support a Targaryen bid for the throne. But you would have to marry and it would certainly be a lot of change.”

Daenerys is quiet for a few strides. “Do you think I should? My brother filled my ears with stories growing up. He told me the Iron Throne was his birthright. He deserved it. I wanted it because it was the only thing I knew to want. But I’m not sure I truly do.”

“I wouldn’t want that much power or responsibility, but I suppose someone must. A lot of someones given the war brewing. The war of Five Kings, though I believe we’re down to four.”

“I want to be happy.” Daenerys whispers her dream to the water as if the waves will carry it away.

“That isn’t something to be ashamed of.” Jaime stops and tucks Daenerys’s hair behind her ears. “If being in Dorne makes you happy then we shall stay here. If you want to marry a Dornish man then you shall. If you want a parade of lovers to tell you you’re the most beautiful woman they have ever seen then you shall have it. And if you want the Iron Throne then I will speak to the princes on your behalf and fight for you.”

“I want to keep quiet for now.” They resume walking. “Are you and Jon happy?”

“I’ve never seen Jon smile so much as he does now.”

“And you?” Daenerys presses.

“You’re alive and well. Jon is alive and well. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

***

Daenerys has fallen in love with the water palace. Jaime thinks it must have something to do with her name; though, it is more likely that she’s never had a chance to play like this before. Today, Jaime watches from above again, as Daenerys and Myrcella take turns dunking each other. They play with children Jaime doesn’t recognize and while her hand reaches toward her weapons, she knows Daenerys is safe here. 

Myrcella’s tempted Daenerys out of her veil. They play some kind of splashing game and when one of the boys ends up with water up his nose, Daenerys throws her head back and laughs, loud and bright, filling the courtyard with her joy.

“Gods above,” Oberyn gasps.

Jaime spins to see she’s not alone. The prince is staring, stunned, and Jaime’s chest squeezes with panic. She looks at him and knows he knows. She grabs him and hauls him to her chambers. The only person she passes on the way is Jon who recognizes the look on her face, and he helps her pull Oberyn into her rooms and hold him down.

He comes back to his senses but they’ve already restrained him. 

“You aren’t her mother,” Oberyn says. He tests his bonds and the strength of the chair she’s bound him to. Jaime paces, unsure what to do. Jon waits quietly for her signal. She knows he would kill a prince of Dorne is she asked him to. She knows he would help her hide the body if she killed him herself. 

Seven _ bloody _ hells, what is she supposed to do?

“You stole her from the khal?” Oberyn tugs on his bindings again. “I can shout and bring the guards down on you.”

“I don’t want to gag you,” Jaime tells him truthfully. “But I’m trying to think.”

“The lost Targaryen is playing in the water palace created for her namesake.”

It will create more trouble than she wants to kill Oberyn. But trusting him is an equally daunting prospect. She takes a deep breath. “Jon, please wait outside the door and make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

He nods and slips out. 

Jaime turns back to her hostage. Gods, what a situation to find herself in. She studies Oberyn even as he studies her. He doesn’t seem overly concerned by the position he finds himself in. Does he think she won’t harm him? Surely he knows she would do anything to protect Daenerys. She rescued the girl from her husband and left her brother to die. She would kill Oberyn if she needed to.

Instead, she takes a step closer. “Ellaria told me you don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.”

Oberyn looks up at her, as serious as she’s ever seen him. “We don’t.”

Her heart thuds in warning-- _ stupid, stupid, stupid _ \--but she ignores it. “Then I am asking you. Please don’t hurt this girl. She has spent most of her life mistreated by a man who saw her as a means to the throne. Unless she wants it, truly wants it, don’t ask her to pave your way.”

“You have my word.”

With trembling hands, Jaime undoes his bindings. There are red marks from where she tied him too tightly. She glances at him, expecting the bite of a blade or the rough grip of his hands. He stays in the chair even though he isn’t forced any longer. He doesn’t harm her. 

It’s been many years since Jaime was raised as a lady of Casterly Rock, but she knows nothing is given freely in this world, not in Westeros and not in Essos. Oberyn has agreed to Daenerys’s safety, but for what? Everything has a price. Jaime’s stomach churns but she leans in, her gaze on his mouth. 

Before her lips meet their target, he holds a hand against her mouth, stopping her. “We don’t hurt women in Dorne, either,” he tells her.

When she gasps and stumbles, he catches her and eases her onto her bed. And when she shudders, her tucks her face into his shoulder so she can cry without a witness.

***

She has to tell Jon something so she finds him that evening and takes a walk along the beach, the same walk she took with Daenerys. 

“He will keep our secret for now. I can’t promise he’ll always keep it.”

“We’re good at forging new lives. If we need to, we can do it again.” They walk in silence for a bit. “They were talking about Ned Stark. They called him the most honorable man in Westeros.”

There’s a peculiarity to his tone which means he remembers when she called his uncle the same thing. She turns to face him fully, his thick black curls but trimmed beard because Dorne is too hot for a thick one. She takes a deep breath. “You told me you didn’t want to know. Have you changed your mind?”

“Tell me about Ned Stark.”

“I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you everything I know. We met at a tourney in Harrenhal…”


	5. Chapter 5

Doran receives a raven telling him of the triumph of King’s Landing, how they used wildfire to burn most of Stannis’s fleet and how Lannister and Tyrell forces turned back the men who made it to shore.

“The Lannister forces were led by Tywin himself,” Oberyn says. He’s included Jaime in this small war council. She doesn’t want to know what he’s told his brother, but Doran didn’t seem surprised when she showed up. “Let me go to King’s Landing.”

“No.”

“I don’t need your permission or your blessing.”

Doran looks at Jaime as if to say  _ look what I have to deal with _ . “The Tyrells have aligned themselves with the Lannisters. This complicates things.”

“Dorne can stay independent,” Jaime says. 

“There are no sides I like,” Doran admits. 

“But there are sides we hate,” Oberyn says. 

Doran sighs.

***

Oberyn gets his way in the end, something Jaime privately thinks he is accustomed to. A raven comes to Sunspear requesting Prince Doran attend the upcoming nuptials between King Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell.

Doran won’t go, and he sighs as he looks at his brother. “Do not make me regret sending you in my stead. Jaime, I would request that you and Jon accompany my brother to keep him from doing anything foolish.”

It’s a terrible idea for Jaime to go to King’s Landing where her sister is Queen Mother and her father rules in everything but name. She can’t say that without explaining who she is so she says, “I would prefer to stay here with Rysa.”

“She will not come to harm here under my watch,” Doran promises. 

Oberyn watches Jaime, curious. He’s been trying to figure out who she is and why she’s pledged herself to Daenerys Targaryen since the day in her room. She doesn’t want to offer him any more clues than he already has. 

“Then I suppose it’s settled. However, I don’t plan to stay past the royal wedding. I have responsibilities here.”

“You have a home here,” Oberyn corrects, gentle as if he’s afraid to spook her.

Her glare is not as fearsome as it might’ve been when she first stepped onto Dorne’s shores. 

“I would accept your tempering influence as long as you will give it,” Doran says.

“I am not a child,” Oberyn snaps.

“I should speak with Jon about packing,” Jaime excuses herself from the room.

***

“I will be insistent if you ask it of me,” Jaime tells Daenerys while Jon sits beside her on the bed. “Jon or I will stay here with you. Both if you like. Or we can leave, disappear in the night. Whatever you wish.”

Daenerys smiles, one of her sad ones. “It’s heavy burden knowing that if I say the word, you will do it. You and Jon both.” She spares another smile for the man she calls brother. “I think it’s why I’m happy where I am. If this small responsibility is too much then I don’t want more. But that isn’t what you came to me about.” She shakes her shoulders and her hair ripples down her back. It’s growing long though she still takes care to dye it. “You and Jon should go to the capital. Learn everything you can. If the king is terrible, I want to know.”

“Of course,” Jaime promises.

“And don’t be sad for me,” Daenerys adds. “I’ll have Myrcella and the young Sand sisters. And I won’t be sad for you. You’ll have Prince Oberyn.” She sends Jaime a sly, girlish smile. “I heard you brought him to your rooms at the water palace.”

Jaime’s smile is forced but not for the reasons Daenerys thinks. “We’ll write to you. All you have to do is give the word and we’ll return. I promise. Nothing in the world is more important to me than you are.”

***

They ride for King’s Landing and despite the poor sleep she had on the boat to Westeros, Jaime sleeps soundly each night of the trip north as if her body knows it will need all the strength she can store. Doran is worried for his brother, worried he’ll start a war or lose himself to vengeance. 

It’s a good party they travel with, Ser Drey and Ser Dreziel amongst them. Jaime spends most of her time with the two knights they met when they first landed. Oberyn is busy plotting or being tempted from his plotting by Ellaria. 

Ser Daemon rides with Jon, the two of them forming a deep friendship and, if Jaime reads their looks right, something deeper. She learns to juggle lemons and oranges and the other fruit they carry with them. Oberyn shows her up by juggling while on horseback, and the only response to that is to throw an orange at his head.

She laughs and spurs her horse on as he chases her down the road. They don’t slow up until they’re well out of range of the rest of the party. Only then does she coax her horse to slow to a steady gait. 

“I have not been here since my sister’s wedding,” Oberyn admits. He loses his smile and he looks tired and old as if all those years have aged him. 

_ I have not been here since your sister’s murder _ . “I know your brother sent me as your septa, but I’m not here to mind you or scold you.”

He looks over at her. “But?”

“But, when the rage and the bloodlust rise, look to Ellaria and remember there is still love in this world for you. Let her remind you of the children you have at home. Don’t let Tywin Lannister win.”

“Have you ever met the man in your travels?”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” Jaime promises. 

“But not today?” He smiles at her as if expecting the answer she’ll give.

She returns his smile. “Not today.”

***

On the day they’re set to arrive, Ellaria and Oberyn take off early while everyone is still asleep. When Jaime awakens to learn they’re gone Daemon Sand looks at her and says, “My horse is the fastest.” 

He must’ve known their plans, but he didn’t try to stop them. Because there’s no use? She waves off his offer. “They have a head start. Whatever trouble they mean to get into, they will. Let’s go and met our escort.”

“Escort?” Ser Drey asks.

“A visiting monarch and his entourage are arriving. From a place which holds no love for the families who rule. There will most certainly be someone waiting for us.”

Three someones to be exact. One of the voices sounds familiar but she’s too far back to see who it is. He greets them in the king’s name, expresses surprise when he doesn’t see Prince Doran among them. She can hear the slight note of fear when Ser Drey tells him it was Prince Oberyn who came and he arrived at dawn.

The men take their hoses past their escort. Jaime moves to follow them but pauses when she sees who has come out to greet them.  _ Tyrion _ . Her brother is much older than she remembers, not the little boy she raised when she was but a child herself. He has an ugly scar on his cheek and she touches her own, unable to help her smile. 

“Ser Daemon, please take my horse with you,” Jaime says, already dismounting. “It seems Lord Tyrion and I have a similar goal.”

“Oh?” Daemon turns back to look at her. Tyrion and his party stare as well.

“We both wish to find Prince Oberyn.” Jaime hands her reins to Daemon.

“I’ll accompany you,” Jon says. The look he gives her dares her to protest.

Tyrion reintroduces himself. “And this is Ser Bronn and my squire, Podrick.”

“Well met,” Jaime says. Jon elbows her. “I am Jaime and this is Jon Sand.”

“Jaime…” Bronn trails off, clearly expecting more.

“Jaime.” She repeats without looking to Tyrion to see if there’s any flash of recognition on his face. “I had no surname in Essos, and no man offered me one I liked enough to take.”

“Essos?” Tyrion starts walking, clearly expecting them to follow. “Ah yes, that’s where the veil is from. Naath, is that correct?”

“Correct, my lord.” The courtesies are clunky on her tongue, but she trusts they’ll come back to her. 

“What the fuck is it for?” Bronn asks. 

Tyrion tries to scold him for his language, but Jon laughs. “She raised me on worse than that.”

Jaime elbows him. “We’re trying to make a good impression.”

“We’re hunting for a Dornish prince who is either fucking or threatening or possibly both. I’m pretty sure anything we do will seem acceptable in comparison.”

“Threatening?” Tyrion asks, that note of worry creeping back into his voice.

“For some reason, the Martells don’t have a lot of love for the Lannisters,” Jaime says and she watches her brother flinch. “Do you know where we might find some Lannisters?”

“We should hurry,” Tyrion says.

He leads them to a brothel which is affiliated with his family which is one of the stupidest things Jaime has heard. But then someone’s screaming, and they rush inside. Ellaria’s standing to the side as Oberyn smiles and threatens the two men in the room with him. One of them has a dagger stabbed through his wrist and Oberyn lovingly details how quickly he’ll bleed out.

“Jon, please escort Ellaria to the Red Keep. I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find where the Dornish party are being housed.”

“Of course.” He extends his arm to Ellaria. She casts a look at Oberyn then another at Jaime as she passes her. 

Jaime takes Oberyn and Tyrion outside where Oberyn threatens every Lannister who is within city walls. When he talks about Elia, Jaime’s heart aches.  _ I can tell you what happened, every terrible detail of it. But first let me apologize for my failure. I will give you the head of the monster who killed your family. And then I will tell you everything _ . 

She links her arm through Oberyn’s and he looks at her in surprise. “Walk me to the Red Keep?”

They walk in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. She hasn’t traveled through this city in a long, long time. When she fled, there were too many thoughts in her head to catalogue everything properly. Her princess was dead, the little ones butchered in their beds. Murdered at the order of her father. The city opened the gates to Tywin and the Lannister army expecting salvation. And he betrayed that trust.

_ And you allowed him in again,  _ she thinks. 

“There was a riot the day Myrcella came to us,” Oberyn says, interrupting her thoughts. “The city was starving. Word is they torn apart the High Septon and ate him.”

Jaime wrinkles her nose, but she’s seen desperation enough to know people will do anything if they’re driven to it. These people don’t look that desperate. Dirty, underfed but not enough to turn on each other. 

“The Tyrell alliance has been good for the people,” Oberyn says. “The Reach is full of farmland.”

Their late arrival means it’s only Oberyn and Jaime who enter the throne room to greet the king and be greeted in return. Joffrey is a slim boy with soft features and a cruel smile. He tracks their entrance from up high in his chair and sneers down at them. 

“Prince Oberyn. I didn’t realize the Dornish liked their women so covered.” He juts his chin out at the veil. “Or dressed like men.” He laughs and around him, his courtiers titter as well. Ilyn Payne stands at Joffrey’s side, a silent warning not to cross the king.

“Dornish prefer women one way,” Oberyn says. “Willing. They can appear any way they wish.”

Joffrey scowls, as if disappointed with the tame reaction. Does he know Oberyn would love to slit his throat? Does he realize provoking the Red Viper of Dorne is a mistake foolish men make and they only make it once? 

“Is that a blade you carry?” Joffrey leans forward on his chair. He beckons to Jaime. “You dress like a man so you think you can fight like one?”

Jaime stands at the steps of the dais and stares up at the boy-king who carries her family’s blood in him. Double the amount as usual if the rumors a true. No wonder he’s so cruel. Daenerys wanted a truthful reporting of King’s Landing? They would be better off with her on the throne. 

“I fight like the Braavosi,” she answers. “Like the Unsullied and the Dothraki and the Sand Snakes. I hope King’s Landing has something to offer my education.”

“You can learn the honor of a knight,” Joffrey tells her. “I’m sure you haven’t encountered such a thing in the barbaric lands you’ve traveled.”

“Joffrey, they’ve had a long journey. You should let them rest.”

Jaime turns to the new voice, grateful for the veil to hide the way her lips part when she sees her sister for the first time in far too long. Twins, they were brought into their world together. They grew in their mother’s womb, their friendship begun before they truly lived. Cersei used to tell Jaime they would leave the world the same way they entered it; together. 

Their paths diverged. Jaime was assigned to guard the queen and future queen and then Aerys smirked and proclaimed Elia Martell, not Cersei Lannister as Rhaegar’s bride. It was the first time she and her sister had truly been apart, and they’ve never been together since.  _ I’ve been without my other half more than I have been beside her.  _

Cersei’s gaze flicks from Oberyn to Jaime and dismisses them just as easily.  _ You don’t recognize me? I thought we were two halves of the same whole? _ Jaime keeps her head down as Oberyn escorts her from the throne room. 

“You didn’t have to draw his childish fit to yourself,” Oberyn says.

“You were reaching for your blade, and I promised your brother I would try to keep you from doing anything stupid.”

***

The Red Keep is full of ghosts, and she hears the screams and smells the fires no matter where she goes. One morning, she seeks to escape a dream where Aerys burns them all, and she slips away to the godswood even though she doesn’t hold with these gods. There’s trees and grass, and it’s alive and it’s all she needs.

She finds a young woman already there, and Jaime’s steps slow, but her tread is heavy enough to gain attention.

The woman turns and the hood slips, showing a spill of red hair. Her face is gentle, but her eyes are old as if she’s seen too much of the world. She rises and gives Jaime a curtsy, pretty as you please. “My lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” Jaime says automatically. She bows. “You must be Sansa Stark.”

A flash of emotion passes her face, too quick for Jaime to catch. “Sansa Lannister, my lady.”

Jaime doesn’t correct her this time.  _ Lannister _ ? When? And which? But she doesn’t need to ask those questions. She remembers Tyrion’s greeting. He doesn’t partake of whores anymore, because he has a wife. 

Jaime kneels in front of the northern girl who trembles and seeks to hide those trembles in her cloak. “Pardon me, my lady. The wedding must have taken place while we were riding here from Sunspear. How do you find your husband?”  _ If my brother has touched you wrong then I will chop his fingers from his hands, I swear to you on whatever gods you believe in. _

“He is kinder than I deserve.” She allows a small smile as Jaime’s confusion. “Perhaps Sunspear doesn’t receive much news. I come from a family of traitors, my lady. You don’t want to be seen associating with me.”

Jaime captures Lady Sansa’s hands and holds them in hers to quell their shaking. “When Joffrey received Prince Oberyn and I he called me a whore with too much clothing then a woman who wished to be a man. I don’t care what the people here think.”

“Joffrey is the king,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I come from Essos. We don’t care for Westerosi titles.” She gives Sansa a small smile which the poor girl is too scared to return. “And if your husband ever touches you in a way you don’t invite, I ask you to tell me, and it will be the last time he does.”

“He doesn’t.” She looks around to make sure no one has overheard him. “He is kind.”

_ Or at least what passes for it in this gods forsaken family _ . “I’ll leave you to your prayers. If you would ever like to speak with me, I am staying with the Dornish contingent.”

Sansa pulls her hands back as she nods, and Jaime doubts she’ll be taken up on the offer. 

***

A different woman approaches the next day. She slips into Jaime’s room under pretense of changing the sheets, but Jaime made sure to know who the maids were and this isn’t one of them. Jaime shuts the door and rests her hand on her dagger. “Who are you?”

The woman hesitates before she executes a terrible curtsy. “Lady Sansa’s handmaiden.”

The accent makes Jaime pause. “You’re Lorathi?”

The woman seems surprised but she nods. “My lady said you spent time in Essos, but most people don’t choose Lorath.”

“Many people choose Lorath,” Jaime counters. “It’s free.”

“Your veil is from Naath.”

“I should introduce you to Jon. He slew a whale while we were in Lorath.”

“My name is Shae. My lady says you approached her in the godswood. That you threatened her husband.”

Jaime lifts a shoulder. “It’s only a threat if her husband is the lecherous type.”

“He isn’t. Her marriage to him has protected her from most of the unwanted attention at court. The rest ended once her brother was killed.”

“What?” Jaime asks flatly.

“You hadn’t heard?” Shae seems confused. “Her brother Robb went to the Twins for his uncle’s wedding. He was killed. But before then, every time he won a battle, Sansa bore the brunt of Joffrey’s anger.”

Jaime takes a deep breath. “What did they do to her?”

“He ordered his Kingsguard to beat her. I’m her handmaiden. I’ve tended the wounds, and I see the scars. She has been mistreated here but not by Tyrion’s hand.”

“Lord Tyrion,” Jaime corrects, and a suspicion slots into place as Shae glares at her. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told your lady. If he  _ ever  _ touches you when you don’t will it--”

Shae interrupts her by flicking out a little knife. “I can defend myself.”

“Good.”

Shae tucks the knife away. “I’ve heard whispers of you. The Maiden with Two Children.”

Jaime laughs so hard she doubles over. “ _ That’s  _ what they whisper about me?”

Shae shares a smile with her. “There are other things. The woman who dresses as a man. The woman who trained with the Unsullied, because she too doesn’t have a cock between her legs.”

“Gods.” Her father would have a fucking fit if he knew. “I will look after your lady the best I can.”

“And when you leave?”

_ I hope to take her with us. _ Jaime smiles but doesn’t voice her thoughts. From the handmaiden’s solemn nod, she understands what Jaime wished to convey.


	6. Chapter 6

“I hate this place,” Jon says with a surge of anger behind his words. She doesn’t often see him worked up. He’ll fall into sullen silences, he’ll brood, but he doesn’t grow angry and snap. Not like this. 

Oberyn lifts a goblet of wine. “I’ll drink to that.”

“I want this wedding over so we can go home.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their full attention to him. Jon flushes, but he doesn’t take back his words. 

“I was born in Dorne,” he mumbles as if he needs to justify himself. 

“Indeed you were.” And, depending on how this all plays out, she’ll take him to where he was birthed. “Do we have a plan for Sansa yet?”

Oberyn groans and takes a long swallow from his goblet. “I thought you were keeping me out of trouble. I can’t kidnap the king’s aunt by marriage.”

“Doran didn’t make me promise to stay out of trouble myself.” Jaime grins as she stretches out on his chaise. “They call me the Maiden with Two Children. Too long a title if you ask me.”

“A maiden?” Oberyn scoffs. “You’re a woman grown.”

“Grown and past,” Jaime agrees. “But very quick on the draw.”

Oberyn stops looking for answers in the bottom of his cup. “Truly?”

Most men would look on her with hunger if they knew. Oberyn looks curious. She rewards his interest with a smile. “Do I not blush enough for you, prince?”

“Jon is not your true child?” Ser Drey asks. “What about Rysa?”

Jaime grows serious and leans toward the knight. “I studied in Braavos and they taught me all sorts of things. You can take a man’s seed and create a babe without his help.”

Ser Drey’s gaze grows alarmed. “You steal babes from their father’s cocks?”

Jaime holds his gaze for a moment before her lips twitch behind her veil. Ellaria snorts and Jaime loses it, bursting into loud laughter. The rest of the room joins her as they realize it was a joke. 

***

Oberyn finds her on a balcony which overlooks the bay. The city stinks as badly as she remembers. She’ll be glad to return to Dorne with its seasalt and citrus in the air. 

“You’ve never desired a man’s touch?” he asks and it’s curious rather than accusatory.

She still gives him an exasperated look. “Men do have things besides cocks even if that’s the part they care the most about. But no. In the way you think of it, I’ve never wanted it.” He doesn’t push for answers, but she gives them anyway, staring out at the ocean as she does. “They say the Mad King took his wife even when she begged him not to. Queens aren’t safe from men. My mother wasn’t. The smallfolk aren’t. I decided I would be. And I have been. It isn’t as lonely as you seem to think it is. Even without a man between my legs I’ve managed to become a mother. Twice over.”

Oberyn rests his arms on the balcony and stares as well.

Jaime finds she isn’t finished. More words spill from her lips. “Boys learn to take. They giggle about stealing kisses, but there’s nothing funny about it. They take them from maids, from smallfolk, even from ladies. They’re taught to take what they want from girls. So why not from women? And if you can simply take when you want something why not take land? Or wives? Or crowns? Men are selfish creatures.”

“Your son isn’t.”

“I hope not.”

“He isn’t,” Oberyn repeats. He covers Jaime’s hand with one of his, but doesn’t move to touch her beyond that. “I won’t tell you there are not terrible men out there, but there are good ones too.”

“Have you heard that Robb Stark is dead?”

“Killed at his uncle’s wedding. The whole party killed and the groom locked in the cells. It’s an ugly business.”

“I will not leave Sansa in this damned place. Too many women have met terrible ends here.”

“I understand now why you don’t want your daughter here.”

“I like Dorne,” Jaime admits. “The rest of Westeros can rot in the seven hells.”

***

Jaime isn’t any closer to coming up with a plan to escape with Sansa by the time the wedding comes around. She hoped to avoid the wedding and the subsequent celebration, but Ellaria presents her with new clothes and tells her to sit by Oberyn’s side since she cannot. Jon and Daemon have to stay behind as well, the king has ordered there to be no bastards at his wedding.

“Besides the king himself?” Daemon had muttered in the privacy of their rooms.

So it’s a small Dornish party which attends the wedding and the feast. Jaime watches the grotesque entertainment and wishes she could slit Joffrey’s throat. As the performer pretends to fuck the direwolf, she glances toward the royal table. Joffrey is riveted, but a cruel smile curves Cersei’s lips as well.

Jaime’s stomach sinks even though she knew this cruelty has been in her sister for a long time. She’s seen flashes of it ever since Tyrion was born. But she’s never see it take over her completely.  _ What has happened to you _ ? Jaime wonders as Cersei turns to look at Sansa. Her smile grows at the girl’s distress. 

“This is disgusting,” Jaime murmurs.

“Quite,” Oberyn agrees. 

Joffrey forces his uncle to be his cupbearer and Tyrion weathers the humiliation as if he’s used to it. Jaime’s indignation grows as Tywin sits and watches, making no move to interfere.  _ He is your son!  _ Jaime wants to scream. 

But before she can do anything, the king is standing and choking. He coughs and grabs his throat. The crowd stirs and his wife reaches for him but he falls and rolls into what will be the dance floor later. 

Cersei stands, unable to make a sound until she sees Tyrion holding the empty wine goblet. She points to him and  _ shrieks _ and after that everything moves very quickly. Oberyn takes their small party to their rooms to tell the rest of them what happened.

Jaime’s pacing the solar wondering what to do when there’s a knock at the door. Daemon opens it and Shae burst through, distraught. “Cersei’s accused Tyrion and Sansa of conspiring to murder Joffrey.”

Jaime pauses. “Both of them?”

“They found a stone missing on Sansa’s necklace. They say she carried the poison and Tyrion slipped it into Joffrey’s wine.”

“Hmm,” Oberyn says, but Jaime’s mind is already spinning.

“You will stay here under our protection. Where are they keeping your lord and lady?”

“The black cells.”

Oberyn sits upright. “She’s a child!”

“She’s accused of murdering the king,” Jaime says. She runs a hand through her hair, loose ever since they returned from the feast. “Jon, I need some fresh air. Come take a walk with me.”

“A king has been murdered and you’re going to waltz around?” Oberyn demands.

“I’m taking Jon with me. He’s the only one here with hopes of besting me in a fight.”

Oberyn narrows his eyes.

“With your preferred weapons we’re tied on bouts,” she reminds him. 

Oberyn waves her off as if she needed his permission and she takes Jon to the godswood to discuss her plan.

***

The first part of her plan is easy. It happens without her intervention. Tywin names Oberyn as judge in both trials because Dorne is “impartial”. No, he seeks to make Dorne impartial. As judge, Oberyn cannot be jury and executioner. From the delight on Oberyn’s face, he hasn’t realized it yet.

Jaime slips from the Dornish quarters and down to the kitchens. She prepares a simple fare and goes to the black cells. The guards check her basket and her person for any kind of weapon. Their hands grope and linger and they send her through with a slap to her backside. She grits her teeth and finds the first prisoner.

“My lady?” Jaime coaxes softly. “I’ve brought some water for you and bread if you want it.”

A shadow moves then turns into a girl as it comes closer. She’s in a coarse dress and nothing else. Her hair hangs loose and tangled around her shoulders. There are dark circles under her eyes but a quiet resolution in them.  _ How long have you prayed for this nightmare to end? And now it’s finally here. _

“You should save what you brought for my husband.” Even as a prisoner, she is kind.

“I brought enough for two. Please, eat. You need your strength.”

“For what? I was the transport for the poison. I will be guilty and lose my head, same as my father. We Starks are notorious traitors to the crown.” Her smile is a lopsided thing.

_ I once killed a king.  _ It’s a story for another time. “I understand why you don’t want to fight for yourself. I only ask that you allow me to fight on your behalf.”

“Why?”

There are many reasons. No girl deserves this cruelty, Jaime wants to atone for her family, but there’s one which might pierce Sansa’s northern armor. “Your father would’ve wanted me to.”

She gasps and her face crumples. 

Jaime forges ahead. “On the first day of the hearing, demand a trial by combat. I swear on an oath I once gave your father that you will make it out of here.”

Sansa takes the bread and water and retreats to her corner, disappearing from Jaime’s sight. It’s a slim sliver of hope, but it’s something. Jaime moves to the next cell. Her brother stands at the bars, waiting. “You shouldn’t raise her hopes like that.” He eagerly accepts the bread and water.

“You think I can’t do it.” She can’t help the bitter twist to her words. 

Tyrion stops chewing and squints at her even though the lighting is bad and most of her face is covered. “I know that voice.”

She grabs his shirt and yanks him against the bars. “Why would you know a maiden from Naath?”  _ You were always too clever, brother. _

“Gods,” Tyrion breathes. “You better win. I want to hear this story.”

“The men in Braavos taught me to dance better than my sister ever could.”

Tyrion laughs, a wet, painful sound. “Have I gone mad? I heard this place does it to you.”

“I will set you and your wife free,” Jaime promises.

“The queen won’t like it.”

Jaime drops her voice to a whisper. “There is only one queen I swore to serve.”

Tyrion’s laughter follows her back out of the cells.

***

Jaime attends the trial along with what seems like the entirety of Westeros, highborn and lowborn alike. Sansa is to be tried first as if her fall will assure her husband’s. Tyrion’s chained nearby, his expression unreadable. 

“Who stands before us today?” Tywin asks, regal as he presides over the assembly.  _ You never wanted to be king, but you wanted his power. Are you happy, father? Was it all worth it for this moment? _

“Sansa  _ Stark _ ,” the girl says, holding her head high. “And I demand a trial by combat.”

There’s a moment of silence before Cersei’s shriek pierces it. “You whore!” She screams and Sansa flinches as if she’s expecting to be hit for her bravery. “You’ll have your combat. The Mountain will kill your champion then  _ skewer  _ you on his sword.”

Tywin waves a hand and Cersei’s mouth snaps shut, but she fumes from her place on the sidelines.

“I also elect for a trial by combat,” Tyrion says mildly. 

_ You’ve always had a good sense of comedic timing.  _ Jaime’s smile stays hidden behind her veil.

“I volunteer as champion,” Oberyn says, perhaps too eager, but Jaime doubts anyone notices.

“You’re a judge,” Tywin says. “You cannot also stand in combat.”

Fury contorts Oberyn’s face, but he doesn’t make a spectacle the way Cersei did. Maybe he would, given enough time, but Jaime steps out of the crowd and stands between the judges and their prisoners. “I will be the champion of the accused.”

Tywin’s mouth presses into a thin line. “And who stands before me?”

“Some call me the Maid of Naath.” Jaime’s smile is a sharp thing. 

“Have they heard of the Mountain in Naath?” Cersei sneers, finding a new target for her poison. “You won’t survive the first bout.”

“I shall serve if she falls.” Jon steps up beside Jaime. “But I doubt she’ll fail.” He glances at Tywin. “Jon Sand stands before you.”

“A she-man and a bastard. These are the champions?” Cersei asks.

“Champions of accused traitors,” Jaime says lightly. “It’s fitting. When do we fight?”

“Tomorrow,” Tywin answers. “We will resolve this matter and move on.”

“Move on?” Cersei demands. The guards are quick to usher her from the room.

Jaime and Jon stroll easily out of the hall. It means they, not Sansa and Tyrion, attract the bulk of the stares. It also means, by the time they reach the Dornish quarters, Oberyn has trashed his room. Only Daemon and Ellaria are inside with him, standing quiet against the wall as he rages. He spots Jaime, and his mouth twists into an angry line.

“Jon, would you please escort Ellaria and Daemon somewhere more peaceful?”

Ellaria puts a hand on Jaime’s arm as if she’s worried. Jaime offers her a smile. “Oberyn won’t harm the woman who can offer him the vengeance he seeks.”

Oberyn growls and flips a table. Ellaria tsks but she loops her arm through Jon’s and leads him out of the room. Daemon trails behind them, and he gives Jaime a slight nod before he pulls the door shut behind him. 

“It should be me!” Oberyn seethes. “This is what I have lived for, studied for, trained for!”

“How would you do it?”

The question pulls Oberyn up short.

“You don’t need to answer. You told Tyrion your first day here at the brothel. You would force him to confess.”

“He is a monster.”

“And you would hand him the advantage he needed to beat you. Because you wouldn’t kill him without a confession, but he would kill you without thought. You would die and so would Sansa or Tyrion.”

“He murdered my sister, butchered her babies. I want to hear him say it. I want to know who gave him the order.”

“Tywin Lannister gave the order.”  _ Finish what my daughter began. Leave no Targaryen alive. Their rule is over _ . “Elia was the last to die. He made her watch as he killed her children.”

Oberyn’s face crumples, rage and sorrow and a heavy helplessness. “Rumors. I want it from his mouth.”

“You have it from mine.” She takes her veil off and touches the scar on her cheek. “A parting gift from Gregor Clegane. I saved Elia from dishonor, but I could not save her from death. Tomorrow, Gregor will pay for his sins.”

Oberyn stares at her, mouth parted. “No one knew what happened to you. The Kingslayer. The coward who stabbed her king in the back and ran.”

“I ran all the way to Essos where I sold my sword to support myself and my son. When he was old enough, we trained in the different arts of fighting together. When he was older still, he befriended the second son of Dorne and now I am back here, given the opportunity to atone for my past failures.”

“You killed the king.”

_ I swore myself to the queen. I never made an oath to Aerys.  _ “And I’ll rescue two who may or may not have done the same.”

“You’re a  _ Lannister _ .”

_ Will you kill me for it? Will my first confession since I left Westeros be my end? _ She stares Oberyn down, but he doesn’t make any move to come at her. “I haven’t been a Lannister for quite some time. Would you train with me? I’d like one more session before tomorrow.”

“Are you nervous?”

She laughs. Stupid question. Of course she’s nervous. “I wasn’t ready the last time I faced him, but I’m ready now. You and I will both have our vengeance.”

***

Jaime eats a light breakfast with Jon. She wishes she’d learned to read and write as Jon writes a letter to Daenerys and one to her. “Just in case,” he explains when he catches her staring.

“The only way you’re fighting is if I’m dead.”

He shrugs. “It was more for me, anyway. You ever have something you want to write because when it’s in your thoughts it isn’t real?”

She waits for him to realize the foolishness of his words, but he meets her gaze evenly. Eventually, color creeps up his cheeks and his shoulders draw up as if he’s embarrassed himself with his words. He has but not for whatever reason he thinks. “Jon, you’ve known me for you whole life. When have I ever read or written a thing?”

“You--” he pauses, considering her question. “You always make me do it. Because you want me to practice.”

Her sweet, foolish, Jon. “My father tried to teach me, but I was too stupid. If I’d been a boy he would’ve beat it into me, but I’m a girl. He would marry me to someone who wanted my name, not my mind.”

“You aren’t stupid.”

“I’m about to fight the most feared man in all of Westeros.  _ Willingly _ . That’s pretty stupid.”

“It’s brave. I’m glad the gods brought me to you.”

_ Ned Stark brought you to me _ , she thinks as tears well up in her eyes. “Quit talking like i’m going to die.”

“I’ll tell you the same once you win.”

“There are some things I should tell you.” It’s one thing to boast in order to bring up her confidence. It’s another to act as though she’s invincible. She could very well die today. “Things that shouldn’t die with me.”

“You won’t die.” Jon stands as if he’s going to fight the god of death himself. He’s taller than Jaime now. When did that happen? “If I can’t beat you then a dishonorable knight past his prime can’t either.”

He startles a laugh out of her and she leans in to touch their foreheads together. And then Jaime breaks away from him to finish her preparations. 

***

There’s a modest crowd gathered for the fight. Tywin sits with Oberyn and the Tyrell on a raised platform, the judges above the proceedings, forbidden to interfere. Cersei is seated with Tommen, her surviving son, and his betrothed, Margaery Tyrell. Various lords and ladies and stand around the circle where the fight will take place.

Few from the Dornish party are here, only Daemon and Jon. There are two Kingsgard between them and the prisoners, both Tyrion and Sansa in their simple clothes, their wrists bound in front of them. 

Jaime, dressed in breeches and a tunic, but her veil still fastened across her face, limbers up. 

“You fight for Tyrion first,” the Queen Regent commands. Her lip curls in a sneer. “I’ll give you the mercy of not seeing the fate of Sansa Lannister.”

“So little faith in me?” Jaime asks.  _ You once told me there was no better swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms _ .

Cersei smirks and sweeps her arm out. The Kingsguard attending her part and Gregor Clegane lumbers through. He’s still a large man, his gaze still full of horrifying promises. He wears more armor than she does, but no amount of armor will protect her from his greatsword so she forwent it entirely. Speed is her greatest defense. He’s bare chested but covers his lower half. It doesn’t matter. She knows his weakness, the left knee, where she managed to strike him all those years ago.

Jaime fights today with a spear and a dagger. The spear to strike at him while she’s safely out of reach of his sword and a dagger for when they’re in close quarters.

The battle begins and they circle each other, searching for weaknesses. He doesn’t favor his left leg at all, if she didn’t know she had cut him there a lifetime ago then she wouldn’t be able to tell.  _ But I know you _ . His smirk as he gestured to the children he killed. The hunger in his gaze as he stared down at Elia.

Jaime takes a deep breath to clear her head. She cannot win a fight in the present if she is stuck in the past. Gregor must think her distracted, because he lunges and swings his sword down. She brings her spear to meet it. He bears down, she holds. She kicks her leg out to land a blow to his left knee. He bellows and as she spins away, he catches her with his sword. It slices through her tunic but only scratches her side.

They have their distance again.

“Do you know what I do to celebrate my victories?” Gregor asks. “There will be no Maid of Naath when I’m finished.”

“Threats? Are you a lady, fighting with words instead of steel?”

He lunges, provoked easier than she expected he would be. She jabs her spear out, catches his side, and pulls back before his sword can harm her. She feels the wind from the swing and jabs him while he recovers. She darts to safety as she assesses her two hits, shallow, but he’s bleeding.

“Now who’s the lady? Do you mean to treat me as a pincushion?”

Jaime grins and jabs at him again. He deflects her strike and tries to slide under her guard. She spins away and they begin their dance again. For a long time, neither lands a hit. They surge and pull back like the tide. Sweat drips down Jaime’s back and stings in her open wound. Gregor doesn’t show any signs of fatigue, but he does favor his left leg now. 

She wipes the sweat from her eyes and Gregor drives at her. She skips back, out of his reach then launches a counterattack. His recovery is too slow and her spear pierces his side. Gregor grunts and grips her weapon so she can’t pull it out. She can’t abandon it either. The man bares his teeth and pulls the weapon deeper into him.

_ Seven hells _ . He’s going to reel her in like a shark and knock her on the head with his blade. She doesn’t have any choice but to let him. She needs a plan, a place to land a kill shot. His eyes light up in anticipation for his kill. Will he pull her spear through his body and kill her with his own weapon? Will he mount her on his sword for all to see? Will--

_ No _ . 

He draws her closer with one arm and raises his greatsword with the other. He won’t have as much strength or control using only one arm. She waits. He brings his sword down, and she dives and rolls between his legs. She pops up, leaps onto his back, and stabs her dagger into his neck. 

She yanks her dagger out. Before she can stab him again, he bucks her off. The flat of his blade hits her hard, knocking the breath out of her. She rolls, ignoring the pain, focused on getting away. When she finds her feet, she locates Gregor, on the far side of the ring. Her back aches, but he bleeds from the neck, her spear through his gut. 

He steps toward her as if two fatal wounds aren’t enough to bring him down.

Another step.

What kind of nightmare creature is he that refuses to die?

She has her dagger, small and bloody, while he hefts his greatsword in two hands now.  _ Bleed out faster _ . Should she have slit his throat instead?

He lifts his foot. Pauses. Shakes. He puts it down with a heavy thud. He sways. Drops to his knees. The ground rumbles. He falls prostrate before her, and her spear pushes deeper through his body.

Jaime doesn’t dare approach him.

Gregor doesn’t stir.

Finally, Tywin stands. “Maester?”

An elderly man shuffles forward. The whole gathering seems to hold their breath. He puts his fingers to Gregor’s neck, the side without a hole in it. He puts his hand in front of the man’s mouth and nose. “Dead.”

Jaime allows herself a moment of relief. Then, she squares her shoulders again and faces her father. “Who is your next champion?”

No one answers as if they never thought they’d need one.

“I fight now for Lady Sansa. Put against me every man who has raised his hand or blade to her. I will fight them all.”

There’s a quiet gasp, from the lady herself, but Jaime doesn’t turn to look at her. She stares down her twin, daring Cersei to do it.

“That’s hardly fair.” Jon joins Jaime in the ring. He hands her her sword. “Now we have even odds.”

“This is improper!” The Tyrell judge sputters.

“Ser Meryn,” Cersei says, her gaze never leaving Jaime’s.

The man eagerly gathers his fellow Kingsguard. There are far more of them, but Jaime and Jon have faced worse numbers. They move back-to-back so they can guard each other’s weak spots. 

The Kingsguard haul Gregor’s body away then charge. It’s a blur of swords and bodies. Jaime hacks and slashes, deflecting strikes meant for herself and Jon and attacking when she sees any opening.

The Kingsguard is good, but Jaime and Jon are better.

When it’s over, they’re standing, breathing hard, amongst the fallen white cloaks. Jon has a bloody gash on his leg and Jaime looks down to see she’s been hit as well, a deep bite in her side. She holds it closed the best she can with her hand. “Through us, the gods find Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa not guilty. Release them.”

Jaime stares down her father. At his slow, frigid nod, the chains on the prisoners are undone. Jaime winces as pain burns up her side and down her legs. “Now, a septon.”

“Is it grave?” Tywin asks. There isn’t a hint of sympathy in his voice. He would be glad if she fell dead here. 

“I would like the marriage between Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa annulled on the basis that neither party wish for it and it has been left unconsummated.” Jaime grins as a septon comes forth to do as she bid. She doesn’t look away from her father.  _ I’ve liberated your prisoners and ended this farce of a marriage. Slowly, I will undo every awful thing you have done to this realm. _

Her vision grays, and the world seems to tilt beneath her feet. In an instant, Oberyn is at her side. Daemon comes forward to help Jon, and they limp back to the Dornish quarters, Tyrion and Sansa with them. 

Ellaria gasps when she sees them and ushers them inside. “You’re alive! When we didn’t hear cheers we hoped for the best but…” She trails off as she looks them over. “You did not escape unscathed.”

“I survived last time,” Jaime says, blood loss finally catching up to her. It makes her loose with her tongue. “I’ll survive this time as well.”

“My mother has the scars to show she isn’t easy to kill,” Jon says.

“My lady.” Oberyn’s fingers catch her chin and turn her face to him. There’s a smile tugging at his lips as if it amuses him to see her loopy, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes which captivates her. “You will have to be stripped down and attended. Daemon and I can stand guard outside the door as easily as inside it.”

Jaime pats his cheek. “You are kind. You should show it more often.”

And then darkness rises up and she doesn’t remember a thing.

***

When she next opens her eyes, it takes some effort. They’re crusted over with sleep, but eventually, she’s able to see. She’s on her back on a mattress far too soft to be her own. Beside her, Jon is resting, tapping his fingers on his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling. He looks over as if he senses she’s awake.

He smiles, enough relief in his eyes that she must have come closer to meeting death than she thought. 

“Lady Sansa stitched you up,” he says. “I’ve never seen so steady a hand.”

Jaime looks around to confirm they’re alone. They’re also in a decadent bed with rich drapings which means they’re in Oberyn’s own room. Idiot. “What have I missed?”

“Apparently Lady Sansa’s maid and her former husband are lovers. Lady Sansa hasn’t spoken to either of them since.”

“Lady Sansa?” Jaime echoes. “Since when do you have manners?”

Jon flushes, giving himself away. “Since I’ve met someone who deserves them.”

“Gods. I suppose it’s better than you having a crush on Rysa. But there are some things I should tell you. First, that girl has been mistreated in more ways than anyone deserves.”

“I won’t add to it,” Jon promises. 

“I know you won’t.” Jaime wants to peek at her wound but knows better. “When do we leave?”

“Once you can comfortably ride a horse.”

Jaime nods and, despite her desire for more answers, closes her eyes again and sleeps.


	7. Chapter 7

They leave as soon as Jon and Jaime are declared well enough to ride. It isn’t comfortable being on horseback, but it’s better than being in King’s Landing. Jaime keeps to herself the first few days. She’s tired and sore and doesn’t want to inflict her bitter mood on anyone else.

Jon rides beside Lady Sansa, telling her edited versions of their time in Essos. He tells her of the butterflies of Naath but not their terrible disease. He tells her of sheep herding but leaves out the stink of shit and threat of Dothraki raiders.

“Tell her about the whale beast,” Daemon prompts.

Jon flushes and shakes his head. None of his stories are about his triumphs. He’s told her about Rysa’s skill with dye, and Jaime’s training schools but little about himself. 

“There’s a whale beast in the North,” Sansa ventures, the most words she’s strung together thus far. “It’s white and bears the scars of men who tried to slay it. But it lives and they don’t.”

“I don’t need to seek out adventure or death,” Jon assures her.

“It finds you anyway.” Daemon smirks as he pulls his horse up beside them.

Jaime drops back to ride with her brother and his...Shae. Her brother touches his face and the jagged line it bears. “We match.” 

“I haven’t heard the story behind yours.”

“The Battle of the Blackwater. Cersei set one of our own men against me.”

“Sounds like her. I’m sorry I left you.”

“The life of a Lannister is easy, even for a hated Lannister. I don’t know what this new life will bring me. Less drinking, probably.”

“That isn’t a bad thing,” Shae says. “In Dorne, we can be together.”

Jaime leaves them to their heated looks. What does Dorne have for her? Jon and Daenerys are too old to need a mother. While she’s sure Doran will shield the two Targaryen heirs, Jaime is a Lannister. What does she have to offer the southernmost kingdom? WIth Elia avenged, what does she do next?

That night, Sansa sits next to Jaime for their evening meal in Oberyn’s large tent. Speaking with Jon all day must have given her courage, because she glances at Jaime and says, “In the black cells, you told me you knew my father.”

“I met him only twice,” Jaime says. “The first time, at the Harrenhal tourney, when Rhaegar crowned your aunt as the Queen of Love and Beauty. I couldn’t participate so I watched.” She guarded the queen and princess, stood at Elia’s side while her husband slighted her. “Your father apologized.” Jaime laughs, same as she did then. “He thought he could fix the kingdom’s wrongs. But the king was descending into madness and his son thought being prince meant he could do as he liked.”

“What was the second time?” Sansa asks.

She’s so desperate for stories of her dead father. Jaime wants to tell her, but it isn’t only her story to tell.

“It’s alright,” Jon says. “I’m ready to hear it.”

Jaime glances at the crowd, Oberyn and Ellaria, Tyrion and Shae, Daemon. If Jon wants the truth then she’ll give it to him. But she has to start long before Ned Stark came into the picture. 

“I was born Jaime Lannister,” she begins. She ignores the small gasps around her. “I came into this world with a twin, destined to never be alone. My sister only ever dreamed of one thing, being queen, so I committed myself to learning how to fight so I could be in the Queensguard. Aerys made me a protector of Queen Rhaella and the future queen. A week later he announced Rhaegar’s betrothal to Elia Martell.”

Cersei’s fury was matched only by their father’s. When Tywin took Cersei home to Casterly Rock, he left Jaime behind. At first, she resented it. But she swore an oath to defend the queen, and she was determined to follow it through. She’d been as naive as a northern maiden on her wedding night.

“Rhaegar stole Lyanna Stark, Aerys burned Brandon and Rickard Stark, and the rebellion was born. Aerys was unstable by then but it grew worse. He knew it was likely Robert’s army would make it to King’s Landing. The dragons were all dead, but he seeded the city with wildfire. When he heard the army outside the gates, he ordered the fire lit. He would rather burn the city than hand it over.”

She remembers her shock when he gave the order. Queen Rhaella was in Dragonstone by then, heavy with child, but Princess Elia and her children were in the Keep. There were thousands of innocents in the city. She couldn’t let the city be destroyed.

“He wouldn’t listen to reason. I told the apprentice not to do it. Aerys turned to him to shout his command. I drove my sword through his back.” The apprentice had been shocked, but he recovered before Jaime. He sprinted for the doors. They swung open and her father strode through. He killed the apprentice without a thought. 

“The city was being sacked when the throne room doors opened. I wasn’t sure who was going to walk through--Robert Baratheon? Ned Stark? The Tyrells? But it was my father.” She’d been relieved. He would understand why he killed Aerys. He wouldn’t put her to the sword for it. “He looked at Aerys’s body, my sword protruding from his body. And then he said:  _ Finish what my daughter began. Leave no Targaryen alive. Their rule is over _ . I wasn’t quick enough. By the time I reached the royal wing, the children were dead. Gregor Clegane had Elia by her hair. I slashed his knee, he cut my cheek. I was going to charge again when he drove his sword through her. Dead. They were all fucking dead.”

Because of her father. He gave the order, and Gregor gleefully followed it. “I couldn’t stay so I ran. I fled toward Dorne. To offer myself as a hostage or a sworn shield, I don’t think I knew. But I couldn’t stay in King’s Landing. It was on my way south that I ran into Ned Stark. He knew who I was, of course. But he was shocked. I was dirty, bloody, and far from where I was supposed to be. But I was shocked too, because he had a babe.”

She closes her eyes and smiles, because they’d both stared at each other like idiots. “He tried to tell me the babe was his. As if anyone in the Seven Kingdoms would’ve believed Eddard Stark sired a bastard while his new wife waited for him, pregnant, in Riverrun.”

“Eddard Stark was searching for his sister at the end of the Rebellion,” Oberyn says.

“He was. And he found her.” Jaime opens her eyes and finds Jon. “She died giving birth to Rhaegar’s son. Ned was going to try and pass him off as his own. I told him what Tywin did.  _ Leave no Targaryen alive _ . Ned gave me the boy, told me to take him to Essos and keep him safe. So I did.”

Jon stands and almost knocks the table over. His lips are pressed together, angry, but he clenches his fists and holds the anger inside. “I don’t want the throne. I don’t want their names.  _ You’re  _ my mother.”

“Jon,” Jaime begins, but she doesn’t know how to end. She always figured she would raise Jon in Essos, Westeros would find peace, and she’d bring Ned Stark’s nephew back to him. She never thought this would be her story to tell.

“Fuck the Iron Throne.” He storms out of the tent.

Jaime rubs her temples. 

“That’s not how Father told the story,” Tyrion muses. “Of course, I knew his version was horseshit, because it involved a lot of hysterics. He let people call you a coward. Cowards don’t kill kings. They serve them.”

“Should someone go after Jon?” Sansa asks.

“Later,” Jaime tells her. “He needs some time to think it all through. Not  _ too  _ long, mind you. He’s a brooder.”

“Like Rhaegar,” Oberyn says. “One day, you and I shall go very deep into our cups, and you’ll tell me what my sister was like in King’s Landing.”

Jaime nods. “But Lady Sansa wanted to know about her father. He was serious, even as a boy. At Harrenhal, everyone was excited for the tourney. Grown men were acting like lads, but your father acted like a grown man.” 

“He was serious when we were children, but Arya could always make him laugh. Lord Tyrion says he hasn’t heard anything of my sister. Have you?”

“I have not.”

“We can send subtle inquiries,” Oberyn says. “We’ll reunite the Stark sisters.”

“And we have a cousin now. My father used to say there should always be a Stark in Winterfell, but I would happy for us simply to be alive.”

“You will be safe in Dorne,” Oberyn promises. “You and your cousin both.” He says this last part while looking at Jaime, and she allows herself a quiet sigh of relief. Lyanna is a sore spot for the Martells, and she wasn’t sure how they’d receive her bastard child.

“I don’t have anything to offer you,” Sansa says.

“We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.”

Sansa drops her gaze but not before Jaime catches the unladylike roll of her eyes. “They hurt little girls everywhere.” Then she takes a steadying breath. “With my brothers dead, I am the Stark heir. If Dorne wants the Northern kingdom, I am unwed.”

“And you’ll stay that way until you decide otherwise,” Jaime says. She stares Oberyn down, but he looks more likely to help protect Sansa than challenge Jaime. 

“Dorne doesn’t want the North. You will be free to live the life you choose. Shae tells me you play the harp. If you want to become a musician, I will do everything in my power to help you.”

Sansa doesn’t seem to know what to do with such a generous offer. Oh, she thanks Oberyn prettily enough, but she doesn’t believe him. Ellaria puts a hand on Oberyn’s arm before he launches a well-meaning, but unhelpful, argument. Time will gain Sansa’s trust more than any number of words will. “Jon has been alone long enough, I think.”

“He probably doesn’t want to talk to someone who’s been lying to him for his entire life,” Jaime says.

“I could go,” Sansa offers. When no one objects, she heads out of the tent.

It means Jaime’s the focus of everyone’s attention. “I suppose I’ll have to make a full confession to your brother when we return. We can leave as soon as we gather our things.”

“Doran won’t turn you out.”

Jaime doesn’t want to talk about herself. She drinks deep from her cup and wishes it was stronger than juice. “Joffrey seemed like a shite king. What do you know of Tommen?”

“He’s too gentle for the throne.” Tyrion rubs his temples as if he has a headache building as well. “His wife and his mother will play tug-of-war for her affection while his grandfather rules Westeros. It’s a better situation than Joffrey, but you apparently have the Targaryen heir.”

_ Both _ , Jaime thinks.  _ And neither of them want to rule. _ “We’ll see what Jon and Rysa want to do. Sansa too, I suppose. Maybe she wants to return home.”

“You and Jon will take the North on your own?” Oberyn grins, amused. 

“And Obara. I think she’s finally starting to like me.”

“A Lannister, a Targaryen, and a Dornish bastard march into Winterfell,” Tyrion begins, but they all laugh too hard to hear the end of the joke.

***

“We could go through Prince’s Pass,” Oberyn suggests the next morning. He keeps his tone light and doesn’t look over at Jon. “It would take us past the Tower of Joy.”

“The most direct route is the one we should take,” Jon counters. “I wish to introduce my cousin to my sister.”

“Sister?” Sansa asks.

“On my mother’s side.” Jon glances at Jaime, his meaning clear.

They ride in silence for the rest of the morning.

***   
They stop in Yronwood to rest. Jon’s impatient with the stop, Jaime wakes on the second morning, expecting to see that Jon’s taken off for Sunspear, but he’s present for the morning meal, breaking his fast with Sansa. 

Jaime would offer to go a few rounds with him until they’ve found their balance again, but neither of them are healthy enough for it. Instead, Jaime pokes at her eggs. She loses interest in them quickly when a young lad is introduced and brought to their party. 

Well, not that young. He’s closer to Jon’s age than Oberyn’s youngest, but Jaime feels as if everyone is young compared to her these days. He’s a solid youth with broad shoulders. His face is speckled with hair as if he hasn’t been able to shave. The hair on his head is on the long side, unkempt. Weary traveler? Or an unlucky bloke fleeing King’s Landing?

He’s introduced as Gendry, no second name. His gaze flits from person to person, nervous. His nerves seem to grow when he spots Sansa. 

“What is your purpose here?” Oberyn asks. He lounges against Ellaria’s side, but isn’t a languid slouch. He’s poised, ready to spring to his feet and fight if needed. 

“I seek an audience with Lady Sansa’s guardian.”

Jaime stands before Oberyn can lay claim to the title. “I fought on her behalf at her trial. Is that good enough for you?”

Gendry nods then flushes and tries to bow.

Jaime waves him off. “I don’t need any of that. You hungry?” It’s a stupid question. Jaime fills a plate and brings it to the boy. “Come, let’s find some privacy, and you can tell me what’s brought you here.”

The boy seems suspicious, but he relaxes when she brings them someplace private outside. There’s plenty of space to run if he wants, but for now he’s content to eat and try to slip some of the food into his pockets when she isn’t watching. Because he isn’t sure where his next meal will come from? Or because there’s someone he wants to share his bounty with?

She lets him eat and stash what he doesn’t eat. Once the plate is empty, she looks at him, expecting answers.

“I have someone Lady Sansa will be interested to see.”

“You have someone?” Jaime doesn’t like how that sounds. She allows some of her anger to slip into her voice.

Gendry swallows thickly. “I’m here on behalf of someone who has her. He has me too.”

“But not right now.”

“I’m not as valuable.”

“Lady Sansa has few friends and even fewer family members. But there is a she I can imagine she’d be quite happy to see. You’ve been traveling with the youngest Stark girl?”

Gendry nods. 

“The man who has her,” because it has to be a man, only men take girls and women as if they can own them, “I imagine he wants a reward for her safe return.”

“He does, milady.”

She waves off his fumbling courtesies. “Has he named his price? Or does he expect me to barter for the life of a girl as if she’s a sheep or horse?”

“He binds us while he sleeps,” Gendry confesses. “Or else we would have run from him. He brought us to the Twins, but we arrived in time for her family to be slaughtered. We started back south, he said he’d sell her to Tywin if he had to.”

“Let’s meet this master of yours and see if we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

“Right now?” Gendry asks. 

“Yes. First, let’s make up a plate to bring to Lady Arya. I’m sure she’s hungry.”

Gendry follows Jaime back to where the others are. She hands him the empty plate and waves him to the table. He only hesitates a moment before he begins to pile it with food. 

“Lady Sansa, I have need of you if you’re willing,” Jaime says.

Gendry’s head snaps up. “What?” he asks. 

“You think I could recognize the girl on sight? I wasn’t on this continent when she was born. Jon, I have need of you and your blade. Do we have anything of value with us?”

“I have some coin from betting on your bout against the Mountain.” He shrugs as everyone turns to look at him. “It was an easy wager to make. All of it is yours.”

“You aren’t going to ask what she wants it for?” Oberyn is curious enough for the both of them but Jon only shrugs. “Well, this sounds like an adventure.” Oberyn springs to his feet. “If I contribute coin or spear am I allowed along?”

“These are your lands, prince,” Jaime says. “I doubt I could keep you.”

The five of them set off, Jaime, Jon, Oberyn, and Sansa, with Gendry as their guide. He brings them back the way they came until he reaches a cave with two horses outside it. He puts his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistles. 

A large man emerges from the cave, pulling a squirming girl behind him. The girl’s hair is cut short, and her expression is fierce as she’s hauled out like a kitten. Sansa gasps, the only confirmation Jaime needs. And then the man lifts his head, and Jaime stills. She knows that scarred face. 

“Sandor Clegane.” Oberyn spits on the ground. “Meet the woman who slew your brother.” 

Sandor looks at Jaime and grunts. He holds Arya back even as she renews her efforts to make it to her sister. Jon holds an arm out to keep Sansa from rushing her sister. His other hand rests on the hilt of his sword, prepared to draw it and fight. 

“I hope he rots in all seven hells,” Sandor says. “Which one of you is going to reward me for hauling this brat all over Westeros?”

Jaime’s smile stretches across her face. “Unhand her, and I’ll give you the reward your deserve.”

Sandor’s grip tightens. 

“Please.” Sansa’s clear voice cuts through the impasse. “Sandor, please return my sister to me. Anything in my power, I’ll give to you. I swear. And Lady Jaime, he’s gentler than his appearance suggests. He was the only one of Joffrey’s men to never hurt me. He even protected me. Please don’t quarrell.” 

“Still singing,” Sandor says. His words are gruff but there’s almost a softness in his expression when he looks at Sansa. 

Jaime has the pricklings of a poor idea. “Lady Sansa is a welcome guests of Dorne, but she has no sworn sword as befitting a woman of her station. Would you swear yourself to her and her protection?”

Oberyn squawks a protest, but when Jaime doesn’t pay him any mind, Sandor doesn’t either. He retains his suspicions, however. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t have to worry where your next meal would come from. But if you wish to leave, I will give you the coin in my pouch and a headstart.”

“You will not be welcome in Dorne without Lady Sansa’s protection,” Oberyn says.

Arya guffaws and earns herself a glare from the fearsome Hound. She just laughs harder.

“I’ll swear but I want your coin as well.”

“Then I want the boy.” Jaime’s stomach twists at the thought of buying people. This is ransom, not slavery, but it still unsettles her.

It doesn’t help when the Hound smirks, a grotesque smile. “He’s pretty enough, I suppose, but he doesn’t know how to use it.”

Arya kicks the Hound’s shins for as much good as it does. “Leave Gendry alone!”

“But I won’t turn him over for such a meager offering. He’s Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”

Jaime points to Jon. “I have the bastard of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. I don’t need someone with a claim to the throne. Your life and the coin Jon won when I slew your brother. That is my final offer.”

Sandor’s gaze is drawn to her money pouch. He grins and shoves Arya toward her. “I’ll take it.”

Jaime tosses the coin purse to Sandor. She averts her gaze as Arya and Sansa rush toward each other. She falls into step with Gendry instead. He eyes her warily. 

“You don’t happen to want to be king, do you?”

“What about him?” He nods toward Jon.

“Oh, Jon’s uninterested in the throne.”

“I was a smith’s apprentice.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Jaime sighs. She has three people with claims to the throne and none of them want it. Will Doran laugh or throw her out of Dorne when she tells him?

***

Her news about Gendry and even Arya has to wait, because Jaime returns to find Sunspear in an uproar.

“A  _ fire _ ?” Jaime demands. She searches the room for Daenerys. Her fear grows when she doesn’t spot the girl. “Where’s Rysa?”

“Who’s Rysa?” Doran asks and there’s an edge to his voice.

Oberyn’s hand creeps toward the dagger on his waist.

“Of course you knew.” Doran sighs. “There was an accident. When the fire finished burning out,  _ Daenerys _ sat in the charred remains of her bed with three dragons perched on her bare form.”

“Seven fucking hells,” Jaime says. She turns to Jon. “You hid the eggs in her bed?”

“Dragons?” He asks, uncaring of Jaime’s censure. “Can we see them?”

“It has been a challenge keeping them a secret,” Doran says. “But Daenerys is caring for them as if they’re her children. And she tells me she doesn’t wish to pursue her claim to the throne.”

“Neither does Robert Baratheon’s bastard,” Jaime says. “May we see Daenerys?”

“Did you truly steal her from Khal Drogo?” Doran asks.

“I will do everything in my power to keep her safe.” It’s a threat, and Jaime doesn’t try to soften it.

Doran sighs again and waves her off.

***

Daenerys and her three small dragons have a whole building to themselves. She smiles when Jaime and Jon enter and she raises her arms, showing off the creatures who rest on them.

“They’re so small,” Jon breathes. He takes a step toward her then pauses.

“It’s quite alright,” she tells him. She turns her hand over, offering him his palm. “Come meet them.”

“Have you named them?”

She nods. “Rhaegal, Rysa, and Muña.”

“Muña?” Jon repeats.

Daenerys glances at Jaime before she ducks her head, shy, even with three of Westeros’s most feared creatures on her arms. “It’s Valyrian for mother. There are three dragons. And three of us.”

Jaime shakes her head. Jon does the same. He pulls back from Daenerys. 

“Please,” she says. “Meet them. I want them to love you. Tell me everything that happened while you were gone. We received a raven saying you freed Lady Sansa. Will I get to meet her?”

“Of course.”

***

The dragons stay hidden, but Daenerys joins them for the evening meal. She wears a whispering silk dress. Her hair is silver as if the fire burned the fake color from it. She smiles at Prince Doran, a polite greeting from a princess to a prince. And then she spots Sansa and her face blooms into a true smile.

“My brother says you are his family so you are mine as well.” She clasps Sansa’s hands in hers. 

“Brother?” Sansa asks, a frown wrinkling her brow.

“Technically, nephew,” Jon says.

Doran raises his gaze to the ceiling. “Anymore surprises for me?”

“I think we’ve covered it all,” Jaime says. She sits with the adults at one end of the table as the kids sit at the other. 

“Then it’s my turn for news.” Doran’s heavy look means it isn’t anything good. “There were survivors from the Red Wedding.”

Sansa turns away from Daenerys at news from her family’s slaughter. Arya’s attention is caught as well. 

“Our whispers tells us Tywin Lannister promised Lady Sansa to the Boltons if they worked with the Freys and betrayed their king. But the Boltons didn’t trust Tywin. They took Lady Catelyn.”

Both Arya and Sansa are silent, resolute, as if they’re prepared for whatever Doran says next. They shouldn’t be this accustomed to violence. 

“Roose Bolton has taken her for a wife and named himself Lord of Winterfell. He’s legitimized his bastard and given him the Dreadfort.”

Sansa covers her mouth with her hand as if to catch any screams which escape her lips. Arya springs to her feet and draws her sword. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill every last one of them!”

“You couldn’t give them one night of peace?” Oberyn demands. 

“My mother is a Tully,” Sansa says. “She’s a Stark by marriage, but it’s no true claim. Why have the Northern lords banded around Lord Bolton?”

Here, Doran looks away.

It’s Sandor who answers. “His bastard took Donella Hornwood for a wife. They say he locked her in a tower and she ate her own fingers before she died.”

Sansa pushes away from the table. 

“Clegane,” Doran chides.

“You should go North,” Daenerys says. She looks to Jaime and Jon as if there’s no one else in the room. “Take your dragons, they’ll grow on the journey. Rescue Lady Catelyn and return the Stark girls home.”

“Our dragons?” Jon asks.

“Rhaegal is yours. Muña is Jaime’s.”

“We cannot take a whole kingdom with two fighters and two dragon whelps,” Jaime says. 

“You have me and my eldest daughters if they wish to come,” Oberyn announces. “Lady Sansa’s sworn sword and Lady Arya’s wicked blade.”

“Ah, yes, with ten the numbers are certainly in our favor.”

“Please,” Sansa begs with a tremor in her voice. “If we show the northmen there is another way then they’ll remember their vows to my father. The Boltons are a cruel family. Please don’t leave my mother in their clutches.”

Jaime turns to Daenerys. “Does my princess command me to go?”

Daenerys shakes her head. “I told you, I don’t want the responsibility for your actions. If you go, let it be willingly. I will remain here with Rysa. We’ll continue to monitor King’s Landing in case intervention is needed.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Ellaria says. “The North is no place for a Dornish bastard, and war is no place for a prince’s paramour.”

“I will return to you,” Oberyn promises. 

“You always do.”


	8. Chapter 8

Tyrion and Shae also stay behind, and Myrcella is delighted to have her uncle share her new home with her. When she hugs him, Tyrion looks past her to Jaime, and Jaime holds his gaze until he drops it. She isn’t Myrcella’s family, by blood perhaps she is, but not in the way that matters.

There was no teary goodbye between her and her niece. Neither did she shed tears when she parted with her brother. The closest she came was with Daenerys, but she managed to control herself. They set forth on a small boat, their modest party and two tiny dragons. Jaime wanted to leave them behind as well, but she was overruled.

She hopes they don’t discover their fire breathing potential while on this  _ wooden  _ ship. Daenerys may be immune to death by burning, but Jaime certainly isn’t. They’re crew and passenger both on the boat, and Oberyn works them hard. Even Lady Sansa learns to help, mending sails when needed and relaying her sister’s messages as Arya calls down from the crow’s nest.

At night, the children go below deck to play games or talk quietly before bed. Jaime often takes the opportunity to enjoy the quiet and stands by the railing, a cloak around her shoulders to ward off the wind. Muña perches on Jaime’s shoulder as they stare out at the darkened water.

Tonight, Oberyn joins them, his steps soft but loud enough to be heard as he stands by her elbow. The bowels of their boat are full with children, too old and too young in turns. She’s confident they’re laughing now whether they’re playing the slapping game the Sand Sisters prefer, a way to test their reflexes, or the clapping game Sansa enjoys. But they go north on serious business and too often she sees the smiles slip from their faces. 

“The Stark girls worry for their mother,” Jaime says.

“If she’s half as brave as her children, she’ll be alright,” Oberyn says. As if he knows his words are little comfort, he adds more. “We will reach her in time.”

“I’m tired of avenging people,” Jaime admits quietly. It’s easy here with the ocean to swallow her fear. “Just once, I’d like to save them before the terrible harm.”

“Jon.”

Jaime rolls her eyes and Muña flicks her with her tail as if chiding her.

“You don’t know what would’ve happened to him if Ned Stark had brought him home. Maybe Robert would’ve seen his betrothed in the boy’s face and ordered the babe killed. Maybe he would’ve raised Jon as his own. Maybe Jon would’ve been raised a bastard in the North. Do you know what often happens to boys like him there? As soon as they’re of age they’re sent to the Wall. There are a thousand fates Jon could’ve had. You saved him from each one.”

Jaime tries to imagine Jon being raised in the North. Would Ned tells his wife of the boy’s origins? Or would he tell her to raise his bastard amongst his trueborn children? Was Jon older than the eldest Stark? Oberyn’s right, there’s a thousand ways Ned Stark could’ve mucked it up. Jaime isn’t perfect, but she thinks she’s done alright by her son.

“I have spent many years wondering how I might have saved my sister. But it doesn’t matter how I plan and scheme and rage. She is dead. But when we went to King’s Landing for Joffrey’s wedding, we saved Lady Sansa. Not from mistreatment at the hands of knights who should’ve known better or a cruel boy, but from the thousand ways her life could have gone differently. When I worry I haven’t done enough, I think to Elia and tell myself that at least this time I have done  _ something _ .”

Oberyn bows his head, grief and guilt pouring off him in equal measures. Jaime reaches out to clasp his hand. It’s a gesture of solidarity, and Oberyn turns to her, surprised, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. 

***

They have training sessions every day on the upper deck. They practice with spears, swords, daggers, whips, rotating the weapon they use each day. Arya eagerly soaks up the lessons, her enthusiasm outpacing her skill, but Jaime doesn’t think it will be that way for long. 

Jon and Tyene even manage to coax Sansa into learning how to use daggers, small knives she can easily conceal in the folds of her dresses. 

“So you never feel unsafe again,” Jon says as he shows her how to grip the hilt. 

Jaime teaches and learns in turn, but what she looks forward to the most are her sparring sessions with Oberyn. He goes easy on her at first, as if he’s worried she’s still recovering. But after she knocks him on his arse without mercy, he springs to his feet and attacks at his full strength. 

This particular bout goes to Oberyn, and it’s Jaime’s turn to be knocked flat on her back. She’s forced to yield, his spear point at her throat. As soon as she bitterly utters the word, Oberyn pulls his spear back and offers his hand. She isn’t such a sore loser to refuse it. He grips her wrist and helps her to her feet, but he reels her in close. He smiles at her, eyes crinkling, and she rolls her eyes in response.

“You think you’re such a charmer.”

He twirls his spear. “Another round?”

“Your pride won’t thank you for making the offer.”

Somewhere to the left of them Arya groans. “Will you just kiss already and leave us in peace?”

Jaime laughs and grabs Oberyn’s hand. Feeling playful, and a little mischievous, she kisses the back of it. “There. Do you feel more peaceful, Prince Oberyn?”

“Let’s go feed the dragons,” Obara suggests. “Let them dance without an audience.”

Despite all the teasing, she and Oberyn don’t have that kind of relationship. Initially, Jaime had been concerned, he was used to having Ellaria or other willing bodies in his bed. Jaime and Sandor are the only other two adults on the trip, and it’s bound to be a long time.

She doesn’t realize she’s been looking at Oberyn out of the corners of her eyes until he calls her out on it. 

“You know I would willingly dance with you,” he says, “but you have made your opinions quite clear. I will accept an offer, but I will not put forward any of my own.”

“Thank you,” she says, surprised into honesty. “For now though,” she holds her weapon in a fighting grip. “Another round?”

Oberyn bows and steps back to take his place.

***

A storm catches them and damages the ship enough that they need to stop for repairs. Jaime isn’t thrilled with the delay or their options, but they don’t have a choice.

“It is called Shipbreaker Bay for a reason,” Oberyn says as they dock their boat at the island of Tarth.

Jaime flattens her mouth into a thin line. Tarth is a vassal of House Baratheon which makes them loyal to the Crown and enemies to everyone currently on the umarked boat. Jaime drags a hand down her face. “You’re too recognizable to ask for aid. I want you to stay and guard the Stark girls and the dragons. Keep Sandor below deck, he has a face no one will forget.”

“Unlike yours?” Oberyn asks.

“King’s Landing is used to seeing me in breeches and a veil.” Jaime considers their options. Jon will have to stay behind as well. “Does Nymeria have a dress I can borrow?”

“Nothing that well help you blend in in Tarth.” Oberyn taps his chin. “Sansa, however…”

It takes some work but both Jaime and Nymeria dress in Sansa’s clothes, and they depart for Evenfall Hall with Gendry as their protector. Both Jaime and Nymeria have weapons stashed on their persons, but they aren’t prepared for a fight. Hopefully no one will recognize them or give them trouble. 

They’re greeted at the docks by a giant of a woman wearing armor. Her hair is blonder than Jaime’s, more white than gold, and her smile is strained as Jaime and Nymeria curtsy. 

“We were hoping for an audience with Lord Selwyn,” Jaime says. They have Sansa to thank for knowing who currently sits as Lord. Jaime’s knowledge of Westeros is quite out of date, and Oberyn doesn’t care for much that happens north of Dorne. 

“Lord Selwyn is my father. I am Brienne of Tarth. I will escort you to Evenfall.”

“Brienne of Tarth?” Jaime echoes. “Not lady?”

The woman’s shoulders stiffen. She gestures to her armor. “Ladies don’t dress like this.”

Nymeria giggles. She waves off Brienne’s frown. “My laughter is not for you. If we’d known who was going to greet us then perhaps Jaime would be in breeches instead of this dress. Not a complete, waste. My father enjoyed the view.”

Jaime scowls. “It’s a view he won’t have again if I have anything to say about it.”

Gendry hides his laugh in his fist. Brienne looks between their party, puzzled, but she doesn’t press for answers as she leads them away from the docks are toward the modest castle. Jaime matches the woman’s stride, too long and determined given the dress she’s wearing, but Jaime knows a bit of pretty wrapping doesn’t make her a lady.

Hells, Tywin Lannister couldn’t make her a lady. A dress certainly won’t. 

Brienne nods to the guards who open the doors to the great hall, and the--knight?--leads their small party through. Lord Selwyn sits on a modest chair, nothing as hulking or hideous as the Iron Throne, but a seat of power nonetheless. 

Jaime curtsies to the aging lord and more than one onlooker giggles. She’s never been one for courtly graces. Nymeria gives it her best shot and doesn’t fare much better. Maybe they should’ve asked Sansa for lessons as well as clothes. 

Lord Selwyn seems amused but not mocking. Given his daughter, he’s probably used to see women who don’t exude the typical ladies’ graces. 

“Welcome to Evenfall,” he says. “What brings you to Tarth?”

“A rather vicious storm,” Jaime answers. “We seek your permission to repair our ship in your harbor. We will pay for any supplies we need and be on our way without imposing on you or your people.”

“Where is it you’re headed?” 

“North, my lord.” The title is clumsy on her tongue and Jaime wishes Sansa’s hair wasn’t such a giveaway. She’d navigate this hall much better than Jaime. 

“There’s nothing but strife that way. If you would accept some fatherly counsel, turn back and return from where you left.”

“Look at their clothes,” Brienne says. “I admit, I don’t have a strong eye for fashion, but those are northern gowns. Are you sailing for the wedding?”

_ Wedding?  _ Jaime doesn’t dare ask the question. 

“Nasty business,” Lord Selwyn says. “First, Lady Catelyn married to Roose Bolton and now her youngest daughter betrothed to his son.”

Jaime wishes for her veil, because it would no doubt hide the shock on her face. Bolton’s marrying his bastard to Arya Stark? How? Jaime has the girl on their boat and surely the girl’s mother wouldn’t have mistaken her for someone else. 

“We’re hoping to make it to Winterfell in time,” Nymeria answers with Sansa’s sweet accent. She gestures to Gendry. “We bring a fine blacksmith as a wedding gift. We heard times are hard in the North. They can use all the steel they can find.”

“I would go with you,” Brienne says and her father pinches the bridge of his nose at the outburst but doesn’t move to quiet her. “I swore to Lady Catelyn that I would protect her daughters. This marriage is something Arya needs to be freed from.”

This time, Lord Selwyn does speak up. “Brienne, you have to weigh your words before you speak. You don’t know where our visitors’ allegiances lie.”

“Surely not in the mistreatment of young girls.”

“Surely not,” Jaime agrees. 

“You know,” Lord Selwyn says. “Some call my daughter the Maid of Tarth.” Brienne’s cheeks flush and she stares at the floor as if this is a censure. “I’m heard rumors of another maid of late. The Maid of Naath. They say she wears breeches and a veil and defends those who have no one to come to their aid.”

“Do they?” Jaime asks. 

Lord Selwyn smiles. “You are free to make your repairs. I still counsel that once they’re complete you turn your vessel around, but I doubt you will heed my advice. I only ask that you treat my daughter as one of your own.”

Jaime raises her eyebrows. 

“She is a fine warrior,” Lord Selwyn says. 

“I don’t recall agreeing to another passenger,” Jaime says.

“I didn’t ask. Now, as my daughter will be on this ship of yours, I want it to be repaired by the best men Tarth has to offer. At my expense, of course.”

“Of course,” Jaime echoes. She looks from Selwyn’s smugness to Brienne’s joy to the barely hidden amusement of her own companions. “I assume we’re to be your guests tonight?” Selwyn nods. “In that case, I’m going out of this gods damned dress.”

***

They eat well at Lord Selwyn’s table. Within a sennight, the repairs to the ship are complete, and Brienne is packed for the journey. Jaime has Nymeria and Gendry walk with her back to the ship. Jaime lingers to speak with Lord Selwyn one final time.

“I cannot promise your daughter will be safe.”

“It’s the one thing fathers pray for, and the gods never grant it. Most fathers fear what kind of husband their daughters will marry. My worries have always been different. She was sworn to Renly, you know. He wrote to me, quite proud of her accomplishments. Then Renly was murdered. She served Lady Catelyn for some time. Then the Red Wedding took place. Brienne escapes danger only to leap back into it as soon as she’s able.”

“Our mission--”

He holds a hand up for silence. “I think it best that I know as few details as possible. In case any curious parties come here looking for answers. All I ask is that you give my daughter a true example to follow. Not the shadow assassin she saw with Renly, not the disgraced slaughter at a wedding of all things. She once believed knights were stalwart and true.”

“I’m not a knight,” Jaime says.  _ I stabbed the king in the back. If only you knew who you asked your daughter to look up to.  _

“But you help those who need it most. You are more a knight than those who currently claim the title.” Lord Selwyn clasps Jaime’s shoulder. “Forgive an old man for being so familiar, but if my daughter learned to be like you, I would be quite proud of her.”

“I will do my best.” Jaime steps back, sketches a bow now that she’s back in her men’s clothes, and heads out to the harbor. 

Brienne is still on the upper deck, standing in shock at the sight of Sandor Clegane and the Prince of Dorne. They’ve kept their other charges hidden for now. 

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” Jaime says. “Now that you know the company we keep. Though, I will swear to you, your virtue will be uncorrupted. Your manners however…” Jaime grins. 

“I made a vow,” Brienne says. She’s shaken by Sandor, but she isn’t scared off. “I will see it through.”

“About that…” Jaime motions for them to lift their anchor. Once Tarth is only a speck on the horizon, Jaime puts two fingers into her mouth and whistles. The rest of their party emerges, first the Sand Sisters, then Jon with both dragons perched on his shoulders. Finally, Arya and Sansa. Brienne’s face lost color at the sight of the dragons, but she gasps when she sees the Stark girls.

Then she reaches for her sword. “You mean to deliver Arya to those monsters?” Brienne demands.

“What’s this?” Oberyn asks. His tone is lazy, his words a slow drawl, but his own hand creeps toward the dagger on his belt. 

“There’s been news,” Jaime says. “Apparently, the Bolton bastard is ready for a new wife. What are the odds he’ll treat this one better than the last?”

“He’s legitimized now,” Jon says. “But a signed piece of paper doesn’t make him a changed man. Who’s he marrying?”

“Arya Stark,” Jaime answers.

Everyone turns to look at Arya. 

“Clearly not, since we have her,” Sansa says. “So who does he think is Arya? And why is Mother allowing him to believe the lie?”

“What happened to his last wife?” Arya asks. 

“We should all be seated for this,” Jaime says. She tells them what she knows, the rumors of the girl who ate her own fingers and was found dead and locked in a tower. Sansa trembles and turns her face into Jon’s shoulder. 

Arya squares her jaw. “They have Mother.”

“Perhaps the father is kinder than the son.” Jaime refuses to give false hope. “We’re sailing North to rescue your mother and take your home back. I’m tired of seeing monsters in power. But we will need a plan.”

“I’m good with plans,” Nymeria says. “There aren’t enough of us to launch a full frontal assault, and even if there were, a prolonged siege would work in their favor not ours. Our goal is White Harbor. What family holds it?”

Sansa takes a deep breath. There are tears in her eyes when she faces the group again, but they don’t fall. “House Manderly. They’re loyal to the Starks. From what I heard in King’s Landing, Wendel Manderly was killed at,” she takes another deep breath, “at the Red Wedding. The Manderlys will have no love for the Boltons.”

“Then we’ll land amongst allies. We’ll need more. Someone fetch me a map. Lady Sansa, you shall be our teacher tonight. Tell us of northern loyalties.”

***

Once again, Jaime stands on the deck after the sun’s gone down. Her mind spins with their plans and all the ways it can go wrong. What if the Manderlys aren’t as loyal as Sansa thinks? What if they’re cowards? What if the Boltons don’t invite all the northern houses to witness their takeover? What if, what if, what if. 

Oberyn takes his customary place next to her. “It’s the best plan we have.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s a good one.”

Oberyn lifts a shoulder in agreement. 

“Essos has made me soft.” Jaime says after a moment of contemplation.

Oberyn raises his eyebrows and gestures for her to explain.

“It was myself and Jon. It wasn’t safe, but it wasn’t like this. I’ve forgotten how to take risks. I’m gambling with lives beside my own.”

“Without an army, it’s our only chance of removing the Bolton infestation.”

“They scare me.” A second confession in as many minutes. She’s going soft.

Instead of judging her, Oberyn says, “Of course they do. They are everything wrong with men. Everything you fear from them.”

Rapers. Sadists. Men who hurt others because they enjoy it and who wield fear as a weapon. Jaime has spent her entire life making sure she could defend herself against such men. And perhaps this moment is why. One last trial by the gods. 

Maybe then, she’ll finally be free. 

“Not all men are like them.” She glances at Oberyn. When contrasted against the worst of men, she can see all the ways Oberyn shines. He is...liberal with his affection, but he only gives it where it’s wanted. He flirts harmlessly with Sansa because she blushes and enjoys the attention. He practices sword forms with Arya because it’s what she wants. And he keeps his distance from Jaime, careful to respect the boundaries she’s established. “I’m not actually a maid, you know.”

“I’m not a red viper.”

Jaime laughs softly. She could let his comment be the end of it, but she finds she wants to tell him this. “Essos wasn’t bound by the strict rules of Westeros. I already had a babe, I figured why not see what all the fuss was about creating them. I didn’t like that part of it. Other parts were good, but even in Essos men don’t take kindly to be given something and refused the rest.”

“Then you met the wrong men. What’s freely given should be cherished. And what isn’t offered shouldn’t be pursued.”

Jaime shrugs. “I gave up searching for the right men a long time ago. I should go down below. Jon seems to think feeding Muña personally will help with our bond. I wish they’d grow fast enough to be useful by Winterfell. I don’t know why Daenerys insisted we bring them along.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t expect you to return.”

“What does the North have to offer me? I’m sure they hate Lannisters up here as much as they do in the other six kingdoms. Though I suppose I don’t have to stay here. Maybe I’ll go back to Essos. With a dragon, I could probably rule a city if I wanted.”

Oberyn leads the way below deck. “What would you want with a whole city?”

Jaime shrugs. The problem is, she doesn’t know what she wants.

***

They settle into a routine. In the mornings, they train on the upper deck. Even Sandor joins them, but Jaime thinks it’s more because the man is bored than anything else. There are no women here for him to fuck, no spirits for him to drink. The only outlet he has is fighting, and it’s not even a true one. They practice their weapons, sometimes spar, but there isn’t the intensity of battle he’s no doubt used to.

In the afternoons, they take lessons. Sometimes it’s Sansa who leads them, teaching them the history of the northern houses. Sometimes it’s Oberyn, talking about poisons and other secrets he learned while forging his maester links. Even Sandor chips in, teaching them new curse words as he talks battle and strategy. Brienne still flushes a mottled red every time the man swears which makes him do it even more. 

In the evenings, the children play; with the dragons, with the deck of cards they brought, even dressing up and playing make believe. Jaime and Oberyn continue to meditate on the upper deck. Sometimes they speak, sometimes they stand side-by-side in silence. The days pass quickly.

All too soon, they approach White Harbor. In truth, it might not have been quick enough. They’ve been cut off from the world as they sailed. Jaime hopes they haven’t missed the wedding and their opportunity to infiltrate Winterfell. 

Their vessel is small enough to dock, and Jaime pays the harbormaster for permission to keep their ship there for several days. Then she leads her small group down the cobblestone steps and toward New Castle. 

The white merman sigil hangs from banners all over the city. Honestly, as if its occupants will forget who their lords are? She smooths her face into something more approachable when they reach the Merman’s Court.

“We would speak with Lord Wyman,” Jaime says.

The man standing guard takes in her appearance, men’s clothes today, no veil, and laughs. “You would, would you? And if he doesn’t wish to speak with you?”

“He holds court, accepting petitions as is the custom in the North,” Jaime says. “I have a petition for him.”

“And who brings this petition?” the guard asks. 

“A humble maid of Naath,” Jaime answers. She bares her teeth in a smile as the guard snaps to attention, clearly having heard of her. 

He opens the doors and gets as far as, “Lord Wyman,” before Jaime and her entourage sweep past him.

Lord Wyman is an older man who sits on a throne adorned with sealskins. Men and their fucking thrones. Jaime strides forward, closer than appropriate and bows. “I am told you are called Defender of the Dispossessed. I humbly request you defend myself and my companions.” She gestures to the people behind her, all cloaked in garments which have seen better days. 

“I heard you arrived on an unmarked ship,” Lord Wyman says. 

“We have no place to call home,” Jaime says. It’s mostly the truth. “It’s a sad tale, one we are hesitant to share. I’m afraid one of the few things left to us is our pride.”

“Is that so?” Lord Wyman asks. 

“King’s Landing was no longer safe for us. We hoped by going north we’d find friends. Perhaps with a warm meal and the right ear, we could share what brought us this way.”

The man next to Lord Wyman finally finds his tongue. “Beggars,” he sneers. “And poor ones at that.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be begging if we were rich,” Arya snaps. Sansa pulls her back, but fortunately Lord Wyman only laughs at her tongue. 

Jaime looks over at the eldest Stark girl. “Would you present Lord Wyman with our gift?”

Sansa takes a deep breath and strides forward, her cloak swirling about her. The hood is up to obscure her features and cover her hair. When no one objects to a woman approaching the dais she kneels, her skirts fluttering out around her. She holds out a small jewelry box. “The North remembers, my lord.”

Lord Wyman opens the box. Inside is a small direwolf pin, one Sansa managed to keep throughout her trials in King’s Landing. Hopefully, it’s enough to gain them a private audience. The lord motions for Sansa to rise. “I will host your party tonight. It will be a small, intimate gathering. I’m afraid it won’t be a feast, winter is coming, and these are tough times here.”

“We’re grateful for what you offer,” Sansa murmurs. She backs up into the safety of the group. 

They’re shown to a small study, left to look at books or out the windows. Oberyn throws his hood off and paces the room like an angry jungle cat. Jaime almost left him with Jon, Sandor, and the dragons on the boat, but she figured he wouldn’t listen. 

“This is a gamble,” Tyene says. 

“We agreed this was the best course of action,” Nymeria reminds her. “We’ll reveal ourselves to Lord Wyman, evaluate his sympathy to our cause, then determine our next move.”

“What if Sandor tries to steal the dragons?”

“They’ve learned to cook their own meals now,” Jaime says. “They won’t accept a threat from him. And Jon wouldn’t let him get that far. Besides, Gendry’s there to keep the peace.” Jaime tried to leave Brienne behind as well, but she said she’d only stay if one of the Stark girls stayed with her. 

A squire knocks on the door and everyone but Jaime raises their hoods before Jaime opens the door. They follow him to a private dining hall, small, but the table is laden with a modest fare. Lord Wyman sits at one end of the table. At the other end is a younger man who introduces himself as Wylis Manderly. 

Two guards stand by the door. Jaime glances at the four men before her gaze lands on Lord Wyman. “Do you trust those in this room, my lord?”

He holds up the direwolf pin. “Explain this to me.”

At Jaime’s nod, both Sansa and Arya lower their hoods. Lord Wyman looks from one to the other. His son swears under his breath. 

“You’ve picked a poor time to return,” the elder Manderly says.

Arya fills her plate, heedless of manners. “It’s hard to have a wedding without me.”

“You are not marrying Ramsay Bolton,” Lord Manderly says. He glares at Jaime. “And if you think to curry favor by delivering her to the boy then you will quickly see how many men here I trust.”

“So you know the other Arya is a fake,” Jaime says.

“Aye. But Lady Catelyn swears she’s her daughter.”

“How fares our mother?” Sansa asks.

Lord Wyman drops his gaze to his plate.

“Ah,” Sansa says. She doesn’t look disappointed, resigned more likely. “We’ve come to rescue her.”

“Rescue?” Wylis laughs. “My lady, the North isn’t safe for you.”

“We have a plan,” Jaime says. “But its success depends on the North’s loyalty. Are you true to the Boltons who claim to be wardens or are you true to the Starks?”


	9. Chapter 9

The next time they split the party, it’s Jon, Sansa, and Brienne who remain on the ship with the dragons. They’ve managed to keep the creatures a secret so far, and Jon will ensure they are well-fed and well-behaved to avoid any untimely fires. Sansa is to stay behind in case their plans fall through. Jon and Brienne are more than well equipped to protect Sansa and take the ship back to Sunspear if something happens.

The rest of the crew is split as well. Jaime, Gendry, and Tyene blend in with the Manderlys while Oberyn and his two eldest daughters become part of the Cerwyn household. Sandor and Arya have their own mission, one Jaime’s wary of, but she trusts Sandor’s greed and sense of self-preservation. 

And so, their small group infiltrates Winterfell as invited guests for the wedding. Jaime’s never been to Winterfell before, and she supposes it’s big enough to be the stronghold of the North, but she prefers southern architecture. And weather. 

The Lord and Lady of the keep meet them in the courtyard. Roose Bolton is a severe man with a receding hairline. He keeps his hand on the small of his wife’s back. She stands tall, rigid, as if she’s one of the stone statues that stand guard over the crypts. 

“Lady Catelyn,” Lord Wyman greets. “It’s good to see you well.” 

It’s a lie, but Lady Catelyn offers a strained smile and pleasant nothings. They’re the same sentiments Sansa learned to share in King’s Landing. Apparently, mother and daughter have more in common than the color of their hair. 

“And Lord Bolton,” Wyman greets.

There’s a murmur through the crowd.  _ There must always be a Stark in Winterfell _ . Isn’t that what the girls said? The northerners don’t like this interloper in their rightful lord’s place. They aren’t appeased by him stealing a wife or stealing one for his son.

Speaking of...Jaime stiffens as the younger Bolton swaggers into the courtyard. There’s something off about his smile, and it sends a shiver down Jaime’s spin. Beside her, Tyene tenses, but Jaime can’t risk warning her not to stab the boy. They can’t upset the balance quite yet, first they have to ensure there will be enough numbers on their side. 

“My son, Ramsay Bolton,” Roose introduces. There’s a tightness around his mouth as if he finds his heir lacking. 

Ramsay’s gaze sweeps the assembled newcomers. He pauses when he spots Nymeria, and his eyes light up in interest. “You’re a pretty thing,” he lilts. 

Nymeria tilts her head as if she’s confused. “Aren’t we here for your wedding?” 

“I’m not married yet,” he says.

Jaime puts a restraining hand on Tyene’s arm. She can feel the tension in the other woman’s muscles, she’s coiled, ready to spring. No doubt the rest of her family is as well. Ramsay’s words spill like oil from his lips, slimy and staining everything they touch. Maybe they could change their plans, poison the boy in his bed tonight.

He nods toward the whip coiled at her hip. “Are you a trainer? I should show you my masterpiece. Reek, where are your manners? Come greet our guests.”

Jaime’s stomach clenches. Whatever she’s about to see, she knows she won’t like it. In looks, Ramsay is nothing like Aerys, but they sound the same when they speak, almost a songlike quality to their words as if everything is a game to them. Jaime’s fingers itch for her sword, to put down this mad boy the way she put down a mad king once.

A figure shuffles out from the stables. His clothes are ragged and hang off a thin frame. His hair, dirty and disheveled, falls in his eyes. When his master chides him, he lifts his chin and more than one person in attendance gasps at the sight of him. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, as if someone took the life in them and ground it out with their boot. 

“Reek here was once a boy named Theon,” Ramsay says cheerfully. “He took Winterfell and burned its two heirs, two helpless little boys. I’ve punished him for you. You should thank me.”

The courtyard is silent.

Ramsay’s smile twists into something crueler. He seeks out the lords. “Wyman, Jonelle, you will thank me for taking action when you were unable to.”

“Thank you,” Wyman all but growls.

The Bolton boy turns to Lady Jonelle. His expression is gleeful. “You now, my lady. You know what happens to Cerwyns who don’t pay House Bolton the respect it deserves.”

Lady Jonelle’s, “Thank you,” is clipped.

Ramsay Bolton hasn’t gained himself any allies today. All Jaime can hope is he hasn’t made the Manderlys or Cerwyns fear enough to betray the liberation force. They’re shown to their quarters, and Jaime’s pleasantly surprised at how warm the rooms are. There’s entirely too much fur for her liking, but if all goes well, she won’t be here for long. She’ll help the Starks reestablish themselves then go someplace warm.

_ Someplace like Dorne? _ the traitorous part of her mind asks. She brushes it aside and unpacks. She’s posing as a companion to Lady Leona. She can’t pass as a handmaiden the way Tyene does, but she can unpack Lady Leona’s things and stash weapons in strategic places throughout the room. 

When it comes time for the evening meal, Jaime is ordered into a plain dress and to attend her lady at the meal. Jaime tucks a knife into the folds of her dress and attends as ordered. The start of the meal passes fine. The lords and ladies sit at the high table with their host and his family. Lady Catelyn eats mechanically and doesn’t make conversation. Next to her, the false Arya barely touches her food.

She has long brown hair and dull brown eyes. She’s in a dress, and Jaime can’t believe anyone believes she’s actually Arya Stark. She’s nothing like the little spitfire Jaime’s grown to know. Do the Boltons know her true identity? If everyone pretends to believe the same lie does it become truth?

Jaime provides the bowl for Lady Leona to dip her fingers in between courses. As Jaime sets the bowl back on its stand, Ramsay snaps his fingers at her. She stares at him in disbelief, and his smile quickly flips to irritation. “My hounds are better trained than you. Perhaps you should spend the night with them to learn some manners. Come here.”

Jaime strides over to him without the grace or demure attitude someone of her position should have.

“Kneel,” he commands.

Jaime kneels. Ramsay touches the scar on her face, his touch unwanted. She doesn’t flinch nor does she holds his gaze, unwilling to challenge him when he holds all the power.

“What happened here?”

“I wanted to be a knight as a child. It was a training accident with my brother.”

“You father must’ve been quite cross.” He taps the scar with his finger. “I think it makes you more beautiful. There isn’t enough strength left in the North.”

Jaime goes against all her training and bows her head, pretending she’s broken. 

Ramsay cups the other side of her face, his thumb sweeping over smooth skin. “Perhaps I should give you a twin. Would you like that?”

_ I would like to run my sword through your heart. _ “The first time was painful. I would not like to repeat the experience.”

“The first time always hurts.” He pats her cheek. “You shall now attend my Arya. Thank you, House Manderly, for your generous gift.”

Wyman and Leona both protest, but they quiet at a look from Ramsay. Near the doors, a guard wearing a full helmet transfers his weight from one foot to the other as if he’s calculating a strike. Jaime rises to her feet and stands behind “Arya’s” chair. “I will serve you well, my lady.”

***

After the evening meal, Jaime brings “Arya” to her rooms. Once inside, Jaime studies the door. The lock has been ripped off so she drags a heavy desk in front of the door so it can’t be opened. When she turns around, there’s a frightened girl staring at her. 

“There’s no lock,” Jaime explains. She inspects the window, fitted with metal bars so no one can jump from it. She wiggles it experimentally, but it doesn’t budge. 

“My future husband wants access to me,” the girl whispers.

“Then he shouldn’t have made me your protector.” Jaime inspects the wardrobe. “Would you like to sleep?”

“Who are you?”

Jaime turns to smile at her. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I-I am Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

Jaime approaches her and drops her voice to an equally quiet whisper. “You’re too old to be Arya Stark. And far too well behaved.”

“When Lady Sansa was imprisoned for Joffrey’s murder, I was given a choice. Become Arya Stark or lose my head along with my friend. I should’ve let them kill me.”

Jaime draws the trembling girl into her arms. “Northern girls are strong. You will survive this. Would you like to tell me your name?”

She shakes her head. “I am Arya Stark and I am going to marry Ramsay Bolton. I’ll be safer that way.”

“My name is Jaime. Now, we should both rest.”

***

Jaime becomes the pretender’s shadow, deflecting Ramsay’s attention the best she’s able. Every night, she blocks the door and sleeps on a pallet on the floor. Finally, they’re able to set the signal for Arya and Sandor. That night, Jaime sends herself and the pretender to sleep early. They’ll need all their strength and wits about them tomorrow.

In the morning, Jaime helps “Arya” dress in warm clothes, layered until almost her entire body is covered. A slight smile graces her features. She loses it when Jaime declines the same treatment.

“I need to be able to move,” Jaime says. She dresses in men’s clothes but does permit the addition of a thick cloak. She can always throw it off if a fight breaks out. 

She escorts “Arya” to the great hall where the Boltons insist on everyone breaking their fast together. Jaime’s appearance is immediately spotted. 

“Have I given my wife a handmaiden or a warrior?” Ramsay laughs. “First you bar her door now you wear a sword at your waist. Are you quite skilled with swords?”

“My duty is to protect Lady Arya. You may rest assured no man will enter her bedchamber while she is your betrothed.”

Ramsay waves off Jaime’s concerns. “I care about her name not the state of her cunt.”

The lords and ladies at the high table gasp almost in unison. Roose Bolton presses his lips together, displeased with his son, but make no move to censure him. 

“Reek,” Ramsay says and the man in question shambles over. “Lady Arya no longer needs her writing desk. Could you please see it chopped up for firewood? You’ll have to bring someone with you. You don’t have the strength to wield an axe any longer. Perhaps the maid would go with you.”

“The maid will stay with her lady,” Jaime says. She pours a cup of juice for “Arya”. 

“You are a member of my household and I will be obeyed,” Ramsay says.

“Did I miss the wedding?” Jaime counters. “Until my lady is a member of your household, I am not. My lord.”

“Enough,” Roose Bolton interrupts. “We will break our fast in peace.”

The room falls under forced silence. Jaime attends her lady, eats a bit here and there, and hopes Sandor and Arya saw the signal. After the meal, Ramsay insists on everyone going to the courtyard to see a display of Jaime’s sword skills.

“You’re not shy are you?” he asks, a manic glint in his eyes.

“Who am I facing?” Jaime pulls her sword from its sheath and tests its weight. She hasn’t had a proper practice since their ship, but she’s confident she can best anyone they put against her. “You, my lord? I can show you my skill with swords.”

“This is a farce!” Harald Karstark protests. “Girls playing with swords?”

“I’m hardly a girl,” Jaime points out. 

“You allow your maids to train with a lord’s weapon?” Harald demands of Wyman Manderly. 

“My wife has plenty of women to do her hair,” Lord Wyman says. “But a companion sworn to protect her? That’s a rare thing. Lord Ramsay has made a good choice, appointing her to his betrothed. She will serve Lady Arya as faithfully as she served my house.”

“Riders!” someone calls from the walls around Winterfell. “Flying a direwolf banner!”

“Let them through,” Roose Bolton declares.

Jaime sheathes her sword and takes her place beside “Arya”. It puts her in striking distance of Ramsay, and she keeps her hand wrapped around the hilt of her blade. 

A single horse rides through with two riders. One is a large man, his hair doing little to hide the scarring on his face. The other is a child with a bag over their head. Jaime glances around the courtyard and makes note of their allies.

“What’s this?” Roose Bolton demands.

“A ransom,” Sandor answers. “You’re the lord of this shithole. How much money do you have?”

“What do you have to offer?”

Sandor’s smile is unpleasant. “Your son’s wife.” He pulls the bag off Arya’s head, revealing a disheveled girl with her hair cut short. She blinks against the sudden brightness. 

“Impossible,” Ramsay says. “I have Arya Stark here.” He grabs “Arya’s” arm and hauls her forward.

Arya, atop Sandor’s horse, laughs. “Jeyne Poole? You called me horseface growing up and now you’re trying to be me?”

“I-I’m Arya Stark,” Jeyne says. She cries out as Ramsay’s grip tightens on her arm. “Winterfell is my home.”

“I’m here to get paid,” Sandor says. “If you don’t want the girl, I’ll bring her to the Vale. Her aunt will pay for her.”

Jaime’s people creep closer to their positions. Jeyne is full out crying now as Ramsay shakes her and demands answers. Roose Bolton turns to his own wife. “You are the girl’s mother,” he says to Lady Catelyn. “Have you been lying?”

Ramsay draws his sword and points the tip at Jeyne’s throat. “Did you try to pass off a pretender to me,  _ mother _ ?”

Lady Catelyn shudders, but she doesn’t dip her chin or hide. “The Lannisters sent you my daughter. If anyone lied, it was them.”

“Are you saying you can’t tell?” Roose demands. He grabs a coin purse from his waist and tosses it at the ground by Sandor’s horse’s feet. “Give me the girl. We’ll hold a sword to each of their throats and see which one Lady Catelyn begs to save.”

“Not just Lady Catelyn.” Ramsay’s gaze sweeps the courtyard. “All of the lords here swore this one was Arya. How far reaching was this deception? I want the tongues of every liar here.”

“We haven’t seen Lady Arya since she was a girl,” Harald Karstark says. “We believed the Lannisters same as you did. They should pay for their deception.”

“Twice over,” Roose Bolton says. “First, they lose Lady Sansa then they give us the wrong Arya.”

“You think you can make fools of us?” Ramsay demands. He digs the point of his sword into Jeyne’s throat. “I will take a daughter from every house in the North!”

There are murmurs of protest from the lords but none of them have the courage to act. It’s Jaime’s cue. She puts her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and whistles. Nymeria’s bullwhip snaps out and catches Ramsay’s wrist. He curses as he drops his sword. Jaime pulls Jeyne back and grabs Ramsay, a dagger held at his throat. 

Tyene grabs Roose Bolton, a dagger at his throat as well. Obara grabs the master-at-arms while Nymeria grabs the houndmaster. Gendry and Oberyn drop back to protect Arya and Sandor.

“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you,” Tyene tells Roose, her voice carrying in the now silent courtyard. “One scratch from my blades and you’re dead.”

“Maybe he wants a quick death,” Oberyn calls out. He takes his helm off and there are gasps as the northerners recognize he isn’t one of them. “How many houses lost children thanks to the Bolton’s betrayal at the Red Wedding and the treachery which followed?”

“What is this treachery?” Ramsay screeches. He squirms but stills once Jaime applies pressure to the blade at his throat.

“This is northern justice,” Jaime answers. “You and your father will answer for your crimes. You betrayed Robb Stark, your king in the North. You stole a woman, raped her, and starved her to death. You have flayed men despite Ned Stark outlawing the practice. You have turned a man into a shallow husk of one and delighted in it. Any of these charges would be enough to damn you. Together, your fate is certainly sealed.”

“You’ve blended your charges,” Ramsay says.

Jaime kicks the backs of his knees and sends him to the ground. She yanks his head back so he looks up at her. Her blade cuts lightly into his skin, raising a red line. “You are a raper, a murderer, a sadist, and more. Do you try to deny it, Ramsay Bolton?”

“I was right. You are an extraordinary woman.”

“For the crimes I have stated and others yet unspoken, I, the Maid of Naath, sentence you to die.”

“The Maid of Naath?” Roose Bolton echoes. For the first time, there’s a hint of fear in his expression.

“I rescued Lady Sansa from the Lannister clutches in King’s Landing, and now I will free her mother from the Bolton’s treachery in Winterfell. You will watch the bastard you legitimized die for his crimes then I will read your crimes to you as well.”

“I will carry out the sentence,” Lord Wyman says. “My cousin, my child, they have suffered at the Boltons hand. I will have my vengeance.”

“Aye,” Arya says. “You’ll have it as a bystander. My father always said the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Jaime passed the sentence. It means Ramsay dies at her sword.”

“Bring me a block,” Jaime orders.

“She’s not a man,” Harald Karstark says.

“Fortunately, being a man isn’t a requirement for learning to swing a sword,” Jaime says. “Do you have any last words, Ramsay Bolton?”

“I would like to see my dogs.”

“The half-starved hounds?” Tyene asks. “I’m afraid they’re dead. Someone wasn’t carefully monitoring their food.”

Ramsay howls and tries to rise from his knees. Jaime shoves him back down until his head rests on the block. She draws her sword. It’s a lighter weapon, meant to be used with one hand. It’s good in a fight, but it isn’t made for executions.

“You may use mine,” Lord Wyman says. “You would bring honor on my house to use my greatsword to end this wretch’s life.”

“I thank you,” Jaime says. She exchanges her sword for his. It’s heavy, but she’s used a greatsword before even if it isn’t her preferred weapon. “Ramsay Bolton, you will die here in Winterfell, surrounded by those who you betrayed. No one in the North will ever fear you or your cruelty again.”

With that, Jaime raises the sword high and brings it down. With one fell swing, she cleaves Ramsay Bolton’s head from his shoulders. Behind her, Jeyne gasps then sobs, from joy or fear or a mix of both, Jaime doesn’t know. Lady Catelyn draws the girl into her arms, offering comfort, but she doesn’t tear her gaze away from Ramsay’s head until she turns her attention to the father. 

“We would’ve made the North safe,” Roose Bolton says as the block is moved for him to kneel at. 

“You made my life a daily horror,” Lady Catelyn says. “You murdered my son, butchered my good-daughter and grandbaby, and you led a reign of terror ever since. The North will prosper after your death.”

She gives Jaime a nod and Jaime lists the charges against Roose Bolton and declares the punishment death. Then she swings the borrowed sword for a second time.

***

There’s chaos for a bit. Bolton’s men have to be dealt with, ones who can be redeemed, ones who must die, ones they can banish. Jaime gladly hands that responsibility over to the Northern lords. 

When it’s all settled, they meet in the great hall to share a meal and discuss what comes next. Arya sits at her mother’s side, Jeyne Poole next to Arya. Compared thus, they look nothing alike. 

“Jeyne will be given every comfort Winterfell can offer,” Lady Catelyn declares. “Or another holding if she chooses to leave this place.”

“She would be welcome in Dorne,” Prince Oberyn says. 

“And what is a Dornish prince doing up here?” Lady Catelyn asks. “I have been widowed twice, I will not marry again.”

“And Dorne has no interest in the North,” Oberyn promises. “I followed the Maid of Naath on her mission. Once it’s complete, I will return home and find another adventure to occupy my time. The North is yours, my lady.”

“It belongs to my children.” Her attention shifts to Jaime. “They say you freed my eldest from King’s Landing.”

“She is safe,” Jaime says. “And once Winterfell is safe as well, we’ll bring her here. We weren’t sure what we’d be walking into so we felt it best to leave her guarded away from here.”

“She is well?” Lady Catelyn asks.

“She has endured her trials, the same as yourself and Lady Arya. The woman of your line are strong.”

“Yours as well,” Lady Catelyn says. “Where did you say you were from? Naath?”

“It’s a small island south of Essos.”

“What brought you here?”

“It’s a long story, and I one we don’t have the time for.”

***

Once Jaime and Oberyn are convinced it’s safe, they send for the rest of their party. Obara offers to go, tired of being cooped up. Tyene goes with her and laughs when the northern lords offer to send someone with them. Jeyne, shyly, requests to go with them, desperate to be away from the memories of Winterfell. 

Jaime and Oberyn take to standing on the ramparts at night now that they aren’t at sea. It’s colder here, and Jaime’s wrapped in enough clothes to make her bulky. Fortunately, most of the danger is gone. She isn’t stupid enough to believe it’s safe, but she doesn’t need to be prepared to fight. 

“Will you stay here?” Oberyn asks.

She’s surprised it took him this long to venture the question. She’s turned it over in her head, but she’s come to her conclusion. She can’t stand in the great hall without hearing Ramsay’s voice.  _ Kneel _ . She can’t enter a bedchamber and see a hearth without wondering what’s been chopped up to feed it. She can’t even go near the kennels with what she’s heard about his hounds. They’re dead, the boy himself is dead, but this place is tainted. 

“The North isn’t my home.” The Starks will rebuild Winterfell, they’re reclaim it for themselves, drive out the ghosts and memories until it’s theirs once more, but Jaime doesn’t have any connection this place. 

“Will you return with us?” Oberyn tries to keep his voice even but there’s a curl of hope in it.

She grasps his hand, frowning at their gloves because she’d like to feel skin against skin, but it’s too cold to be without them. “I’m not sure I have a home anymore.”

“You have a brother and a niece in Dorne. You have a daughter.” Oberyn holds tighter when she tries to pull her hand away. “There are many in Dorne who love you. Isn’t that what a home is? A place where you’re loved?”

She looks at him and knows without a doubt he counts himself as one of those people. She doesn’t understand why. They aren’t married, she’s never spread her legs for him. She hasn’t even helped him the way she’s helped Daenerys and Sansa. 

She takes a step closer to him and tucks her face against his neck so she doesn’t have to look at him. “I don’t understand you.”

“I’m a very simple person. You’re used to searching for secrets and hidden motives. I have none.”

She wraps her arms around him and he stiffens, surprised, before he returns her hug.


	10. Chapter 10

Jon and Brienne ride in on horseback, Sansa on a horse between them. She wears her hood down, her red hair spilling down her back. She spots her mother and sister, waiting, and she slides off her horse before it’s come to a complete stop. She runs to them and throws her arms around her mother, heedless of her usual courtesies. 

“By the gods,” Harald Karstark says. He’s looking away from the reunion and at what Jon brought with him, two large cages which still aren’t large enough for their inhabitants.

“Ah,” Jaime says spotting the dragons. 

Lady Catelyn, wiping her tears, straightens at the sight of the dragons. “I’m going to need to hear some of that story now, Jaime.” Then she spots the girl with Jon. “Lady Brienne?”

Brienne dismounts and bows, clunky in her armor. “I swore I would find your children and return them to you Lady Catelyn. The gods aided me in ways I didn’t anticipate, but by my father’s leave, I swear myself to House Stark, to honor and serve your family for the rest of my days.”

“More girls with swords?” Harald Karstark scoffs. 

“I’m a girl with a sword,” Arya says. “Mother, can Brienne stay and train me? I need to be the best if I’m going to protect our family.”

“You have us to protect you,” Harald says, puffing up.

“You left my brother to die and then you left my mother to suffer. You’re a co--” 

Sansa claps a hand over her sister’s mouth. She offers Harald Karstark a strained smile. “Forgive my sister, my lord, her companion these many moons has been Sandor Clegane. They didn’t spend much time on manners.”

“Your gentle nature does your father’s memory a service,” Harald says.

Sansa draws herself up to her full height. “My mother taught me my manners, and I honed them in King’s Landing as I sought to escape Lannister and Baratheon treachery. I’m fortunate Jaime of Naath was there to help me once my brother’s army was disbanded.”

_ The army you abandoned _ , hangs heavy in the air.

After a moment, Sansa smiles and drops her hand from his sister’s mouth so she can curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I would like to take a tour of my home with my family.”

“Of course,” Harald says as if she was actually asking for permission. 

Arya resists her sister’s tug of her sleeve. She searches the courtyard until she finds who she’s looking for. She gestures to Gendry. “Come on then you big lug.”

“Lug?” he protests before he glances at Lady Catelyn. His eyes widen and he sketches an unpractice bow. “I mean--”

“Oh, don’t get boring on me now,” Arya grumbles. “Mother, this is Gendry. He saved my life but not as many times as I saved his.”

A smile dances in Gendry’s eyes, transforming him into a handsome lad. “That’s not how I remember it, m’lady.”

“Oh yeah?” 

Lady Catelyn clears her throat. “There is quite the story to be told.” She glances at the dragons. “Why don’t we convene in the great hall and we can hear it for ourselves? Over some food, perhaps?”

“Where are Tyene and Obara?” Oberyn asks. 

“Guarding the ship,” Jon answers. “I tried to convince them to keep Rhaegal and Muña, but they wouldn’t. They must not have inherited their father’s sense of adventure. I tried to tell them the dragons are well-behaved as long as they’re fed regularly. Speaking of…” he trails off, embarrassed.

“Raw meat still?” Sansa asks, lifting her skirts. “I’ll speak to the cook.” She glides away, and Jon stares after her with an expression that weighs on Jaime’s heart. The North won’t be home for her, but it might become one for her son.  _ This is where he belongs _ , she reminds herself. Ned only gave him to her for safekeeping. 

The dragons are set free from their carriers, and allowed to roast and eat their own meat on the far side of the great hall. The humans gather on the other side, stealing glances as the dragons gorge themselves. 

“I thought the dragons were gone,” Lyanna Mormont says. She’s young but as the lady of her house, she sits at the high table with the rest of the lords and ladies. 

“They were,” Jaime answers. “But Daenerys Targaryen was presented with three petrified eggs at her wedding, and those eggs eventually hatched.”

“A Targaryen still lives?” Wyman Manderly asks. “Will we see another mad ruler?”

“Daenerys has no interest in the throne,” Jaime answers. “She wants a peaceful, happy life. She knows she won’t find it in King’s Landing.”

“So we let a Lannister sit on the throne and behind it?” Harald Karstark demands. 

“Fuck the throne,” Sandor Clegane says. “Stay in your lands, get fat for winter, and let the South clean up its own shit.”

Arya raises her up. “Here, here,” she agrees. 

Harald makes a rude gesture in Sandor’s direction.

“Careful,” Sansa warns. “He’s my sworn sword.”

Lady Catelyn clears her throat. “If Daenerys Targaryen had three dragons, why do you have two of them?”

Jaime allows herself to grin. “Well, I did steal her from her wedding.”

“You’re bad luck at weddings,” Oberyn says, his grin matching hers. “You steal a Dothraki bride, Joffrey ends up poisoned, and now the Boltons have lost their heads. People will stop inviting you once word of this spreads.”

“I thought dragons only liked Targaryens.” Lyanna casts a distrustful look at the far end of the hall. 

“I’m not sure why Muña hasn’t tried to roast me yet,” Jaime admits. “But Rhaegal is named after Rhaegar, Jon’s father.”

Everyone’s gazes swing to Jon who looks uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. 

“You don’t have the Targaryen look,” Lyanna says with the bluntness of youth. “Nor the Dornish one.”

Lady Catelyn is the one who breathes out slowly, a hand covering her mouth. “Ned found you.”

“Aye,” Jon says. 

“Ned found who?” Harald Karstark demands, clearly not happy with being kept out of the loop. 

One of the minor lords stands and approaches Jon. He reaches a hand out then pauses as if asking for permission. When Jon nods, the man touches his face. “By all the gods, old and new. I never thought to see you again. You look remarkably like your mother.”

Jon flinches.

“His mother?” Harald prompts.

“Lyanna Stark,” the man answers.

There’s silence before half the hall bursts into laughter. The other half is shouting, outraged. The dragons look up from their feast, intrigued by the noise, and the humans hastily quiet down. 

“My name is Howland Reed,” the man tells Jon. “You wouldn’t remember me. But your companion might.” He turns now to Jaime. “I have prayed for years that Ned made the right choice. I’m glad to say that he did.” To the rest of the hall he says, “Ned Stark and I searched for Lyanna at the end of the war. We found her at the Tower of Joy. We had to fight through the Kingsguard to reach her and by the time we did it was too late. She died in childbirth. Ned was going to raise the child as his own, but we ran across a young woman who gave us another option.”

“I don’t recall giving anyone anything,” Jaime says. 

“You gave Ned a healthy dose of reality.” Howland chuckles. “ _ Is the North truly full of idiots who would believe the most honorable man in Westeros would whelp a bastard while his wife was pregnant at home? _ He stared at you for a full five seconds before he could speak again. Where did you take Jon?”

“Essos,” Jaime answers. “We didn’t have plans to leave except we ended up with Daenerys and then Robert died and his heirs were questioned. We sailed for Dorne in case Daenerys or Jon wanted to press their claim. They didn’t but we had friends in Dorne. In Essos there were only enemies.”

“Why would my husband give his nephew to a stranger?” Lady Catelyn asks. “Why not bring him home? Family would be welcome in our walls.”

“Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon ordered the death of every Targaryen still left alive,” Howland answers. “Jon was safest out of Westeros.”

“And so was I,” Jaime answered. “We were a well-matched pair.”

“And now you’re home.” Howland Reed draws Jon in for a hug. “Welcome home, Jon.”

“He’s the only male Stark,” Harald Karstark says. “Winterfell is yours.”

Lady Catelyn draws herself up. “Now, wait just a minute.”

“I don’t want Winterfell,” Jon says. “I didn’t come here to take anything from anyone.”

“Then don’t take it,” Sansa says, her voice rising about the fray. Everyone quiets. “Share it. You are a Stark by birth but not by name.” She holds her hand out to him. “Come under my cloak and become Jon Stark, Warden of the North.”

The party explodes into arguments again, and Jaime leaves them to their squabbling and takes the dragons outside. They’re happy for the fresh air, and they swoop over Winterfell, startling horses and the people of the keep alike. The exercise is good for them. 

If Jon stays here, she figures Rhaegal will stay as well. With Muña miss her brother? Will Daenerys?

She isn’t surprised when Oberyn finds her. 

“Arya says since Sansa proposed, Jon should be the one given away.”

“I thought I wasn’t being invited to weddings anymore,” Jaime says.

Oberyn chuckles. “Maybe it’s time to oversee a successful one. Will you stay now that Jon is?”

“We don’t know for certain that he will.” Except, Jaime does know. Whether he marries Sansa or swears himself to her protection, or both, Jon won’t leave the North. There’s too much fucking Stark in him. “He’ll flourish here. He can stand on the ramparts and brood. He can ride along the Wall on his dragon. He can make sure no one ever hurts the Starks again. He’s had a crush on Sansa since King’s Landing. It might very well grow into love one day.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Winterfell still isn’t my home. And I knew I couldn’t keep Jon to myself forever. I figured I’d lose him to a courtier in Lys or a water dancer in Braavos or a fisherman’s daughter in Lorath. I never figured this is how it would end but it’s fitting. Ned Stark gave Jon to me and now Sansa Stark is taking him away. Though, that’s not quite right. He’s choosing to go.” He didn’t have a choice when he was a babe, but he has a choice now. And his choice is to leave her. She doesn’t blame him, even as it threatens to shatter her heart into a thousand pieces. 

“We shouldn’t linger here.” She clears her throat. “Someone will start to put the pieces together. If they realize who my father was then my head will roll.”

“I would not let them.” Oberyn touches her braids, pinned in their usual fashion. “I like your head where it is.”

Jaime laughs but she doesn’t turn away from the touch. “You against the entire North?”

“With you at my side, we would surely prevail.”

She laughs again. She holds his face between her hands. Her fingers are chilled from the air but someone his cheeks are still warm. “You either give us too much credit or them too little. But to answer your question; no, I will not remain in the North, even if Jon does. I know you collect your daughters so you will never lose sight of them but most parents know one day they must part with their children.”

“Criticizing my parenting? Your touch is so gentle and your words so harsh. But perhaps you’re right. My youngest daughters could use another good influence in their lives.”

“Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, are you asking me to be the mother of your children?”

“Yes. I will never ask that you carry them, but I ask that you act as mother to them all the same, so long as it pleases you.”

“They will be terrors.” She draws their faces together until their lips are almost touching.

“Then I will tell everyone they take after their mother.”

Jaime laughs again, softer this time, and when it trails off, she presses her mouth to Oberyn’s. He wraps his arms around her and kisses back. His hands don’t wander, he doesn’t search for more, he meets her where she’s at and for that, she kisses him for far longer than she intended.

When they pull back, he stares at her with something like wonder. 

Jaime clears her throat, but it does nothing for the flush on her cheeks. 

***

The wedding plans proceed rapidly. Sansa points out all the major Houses are here for a wedding so they better deliver. No one dares question her once she gets the glint in her eye that says she’s a lady of Winterfell and expects to be obeyed. Jon, especially, goes starry-eyed every time she straightens her shoulders and starts giving orders.

“It’s a good thing she’s a reasonable woman,” Jaime says as she and Oberyn help arrange the godswood for the ceremony. “He would do anything she asked.”

“Ah, young love,” Oberyn sighs.

“As if Ellaria doesn’t have you eating out of the palm of her hand.”

Oberyn smirks. “What a couple does in their bedchambers is hardly something to be shared. But if you insist, I prefer to eat off her stomach. Or--”

She tosses a handful of snow at him before he can finish that thought. He shakes the snow off his face and quickly packs a handful of snow into a ball. He throws it at her and she turns so it hits her shoulder and falls apart.

She quickly creates a ball of snow of her own and soon they’re chasing each other through the courtyard, pelting each other with snow. They’re joined by children, highborn and lowborn alike and soon the courtyard is a warzone. 

By the time Lady Catelyn calls everyone to supper, Jaime’s clothes are soaked through and she’s chilled to the bone. Lady Catelyn gives her a look which she must have practiced on her children and sends Jaime to take a hot bath and to take dinner in her rooms.

Oberyn shares her punishment and they laugh over their dinner. 

***

Jaime isn’t able to talk to Jon for several days. First, there’s the whirlwind of planning. Then he’s part of the hunt for the wedding feast. When he returns, she insists on stealing him. Sansa gives him a kiss and a promise to turn the wolf pelts he hunted into a cloak worthy of the Lord of Winterfell. He stares after her as Jaime drags him up to an old tower for privacy. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” he says once they’re alone, jumping onto the attack as if Jaime’s an opponent. “The other lords, they were circling like vultures. Sansa and her family have been through enough. I will protect her family, and I will treat her right. They all look at her and see Winterfell. They don’t see the girl who survived the Lannisters or the lady she’s becoming.”

“You’re going to tie your life to another person’s because it’s the right thing to do?” Jaime asks. Jon’s heart is in the right place, but he rarely thinks of himself in his decisions. Honor, duty, they’re all well and good, but she wants him to be happy.

“You did,” he says. He glances at her as if expecting a reprimand. “Do you regret it?”

“Never.” She runs her hands through his curls, somehow even more unruly up here. “You have been the greatest joy of my life.”

“And Sansa will be mine.”

“Sansa?” Jaime raises her eyebrows. “What happened to ‘lady’?”

Jon flushes. “Brienne was a chaperone. Nothing untoward happened, but we grew close while we were in White Harbor. Clos _ er _ , I suppose. I know I’m young, that what I feel is affection, but I believe it could turn into love one day.”

“Oh, Jon.” Tears prickle in Jaime’s eyes. She pulls him into a hug so he won’t see them. “Just make me one promise.”

“Anything,” he says.

“Don’t go chasing the gods-damned whale they keep prattling on about.”

Jon stills before her words sink in. He bursts into laughter and Jaime joins him until all her sadness is washed away. 

***

In breaking with tradition, neither party stand at the heart tree to begin the ceremony. Lord Wyman stands at the tree and in a booming voice calls out, “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

Arya and Lady Catelyn leads Sansa to the heart tree. Jaime hasn’t seen her in her wedding gown and it’s gorgeous, white and flowing. Her hair is braided into a crown on her head and she smiles as she answers. “Sansa, of House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes here to beg the blessings of the Gods.”

“Who else comes before the Old Gods this night?” Lord Wyman asks.

Jon and Sansa decided together they didn’t want the claiming language in the ceremony. They were both coming here of their own free will and at the end of the evening neither would own the other. They were to be partners. Equals. Jaime escorts Jon to the heart tree.

He doesn’t look at Lord Wyman as he answers. “Jon, of Essos, heir to nothing, but defender of those who need it, comes here to beg the blessings of the Gods.”

Jaime, Arya, and Lady Catelyn step back and the young couple clasps each other’s hands.

“Lady Sansa, do you accept this man?”

“I do,” she answers, beaming at Jon.

“And Jon, do you accept this woman?”

“I do,” he answers.

Hands still clasped, they kneel before the heart tree. The whole assembly falls quiet in prayer. Once they finish, Sansa turns to her sister and Arya scurries forward with a folded cloth. Sansa shakes out the cloak, it’s thick with wolf fur around the collar. A direwolf sigil has been stitched onto it, and Sansa secures the cloak around her husband’s shoulders.

“Arise, Lord and Lady of House Stark,” Lord Wyman intones. “May the Gods bless your union.”

They stand and Sansa tugs Jon close with a grin. They kiss briefly, but they pull apart slowly, as if they want to linger.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that tonight,” Arya says then laughs and dodges her sister’s swat. “It’s time to eat!”

***

There’s enough food for everyone to eat their fill and afterward, there’s music. Jaime’s in her Dornish clothes, pants and a tunic, finely made, but hardly woman’s wear. Oberyn still holds his hand out to her. “Surely you learned how to dance somewhere on your adventures.”

“We’ll scandalize the locals,” Jaime says.

Oberyn shrugs. “I doubt I’ll be here again.” He wiggles her fingers in invitation. 

She slaps her hand in his and lets him lead her onto the floor. Dancing was part of her education as a Lannister, and Elia insisted she keep up with it when she lived in King’s Landing. She taught Jon the steps as he grew, a little piece of home to carry with them, maybe in hopes that one day they would find themselves in Westeros. She isn’t nearly as skilled as Sansa who twirls her skirts all over the floor, but she doesn’t step on Oberyn’s toes. On accident, anyway. 

She shoves him at Nymeria after their fourth dance, because she wants a break. She finds herself keeping company with Lady Catelyn. 

“It isn’t any easier when it’s a daughter your see marry than a son,” Lady Catelyn says.

It occurs to Jaime that the woman probably doesn’t have fond memories of weddings. “At least your daughter will stay with you.”

“You know, the lords muttered amongst themselves about this wedding. Someone even had the gall to ask if I’d learned nothing from Robb’s mistakes.” Lady Catelyn’s eyes flash. “Of course I learned. I learned not to promise my children in marriage in case their hearts lead them elsewhere. Let the men call me soft. At least my children will be happy.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” Jaime admits. “I wanted Jon safe and I wanted him happy. He will have both here.”

“He will. Sansa wants to fill Winterfell with children. I’m trying to convince her to wait a few years. She’ll still so young.”

“Then invite the young ones who don’t have families to your hall. Let her raise children who have no mothers or whose mother’s need help. It’ll settle the itch until she’s old enough. But if you’re hoping for Jon to moderate the number of their brood then you’ll be disappointed. He’s always had a soft spot for little ones.”

“I wouldn’t mind having children running about again.” Lady Catelyn smile is sad as if she’s thinking on all the children she’s lost. “Besides, Sansa and Jon will have to make up for Arya. I doubt she’ll give me grandchildren.”

Jaime looks over at where Arya’s sitting with Gendry and his new smithing friends. “Gendry’s a good lad. He won’t give Arya any children unless it’s proper.”

“I’ll be expected to remarry.” The dark look returns to Lady Catelyn’s gaze. “I was betrothed to Ned’s brother, I don’t know if you knew that. When that engagement was broken, I was given to Ned. It look many years, but we grew to love each other. When I lost him, I thought my heart couldn’t know deeper pain. I was wrong, of course. I lost my son, was taken by his murderers. No one has dared make an offer to me yet, but they will.”

“They can’t force you to accept,” Jaime says. “Your daughter’s husband has a dragon. No one will force you to do anything ever again.”

Lady Catelyn laughs quietly. “I suppose not. You’ll take good care of Jeyne in Dorne, will you? She was mistreated by the Lannisters, mistreated by the Boltons and...I did her no favors either. She deserves to find what happiness she can.”

“She’ll find it in Dorne,” Jaime promises. 

“I think your man wants to dance with you again.” Lady Catelyn nods toward where Oberyn is hovering, waiting for a pause in conversation.

“He’s not mine,” Jaime says. Then she raises her voice so Oberyn can hear. “You mean to dance,  _ again _ ?”

“As often as you say yes,” he answers. He holds his hand out. “My lady?”

“I’m no fucking lady,” she grumbles, but she stands and ignores Lady Catelyn’s laughter.

***

They’re still recovering from the celebration when a sentry calls out riders approaching. Muña curls around the old tower and hisses, but thankfully she doesn’t blow any fire. 

“Does that mean they’re a threat?” Oberyn asks looking up at the dragon.

“They’re flying a stag banner,” the sentry calls.

“Stags this far north?” Lord Wyman asks.

“Is it Stannis?” Harald Karstark asks.

“I suppose we’ll see,” Lady Catelyn says, “Open the gates and allow the riders through.”

Harald moves to protest, but Lady Catelyn silences him with a look. A crowd grows as word spreads and when Stannis shows up with a small entourage, he’s greeted by the major houses of the North. He looks over them and pauses when he spots Oberyn. “You aren’t from around here.”

“Prince Oberyn Martell.” Oberyn bows and follows it up with an insolent grin. “I’m from Dorne.”

“I know that. Why are you here?”

“He returned my daughters to me,” Lady Catelyn says. “Winterfell is in his debt. Please, Lord Stannis, stable your horses and join us for a meal.”

“King Stannis,” the man corrects. 

“Are those dragons?” the bearded man next to him asks. 

“They are,” Jon answers. “I am Jon, the Lord of Winterfell. This is my wife Lady Sansa and I’m sure you know my goodmother, Lady Catelyn. May I ask what brings you this way? I thought King’s Landing would be your goal.”

“The North rode with my brother, now I ask it to ride with me,” Stannis says. “I am the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Six,” Oberyn pipes up. He grins at Stannis’s thunderous expression. “I’m sure you can understand why Dorne isn’t eager to jump back into this mess.”

“Anyone who isn’t for me is against me,” Stannis says.

The man next to him sighs. “Lady Catelyn had the right of it. Let’s get off these horses and eat something. Then we can discuss our purpose.”

***

Jaime keeps herself and Oberyn away from the negotiating table. Whether the North joins this fight is up to them. There’s nothing for Oberyn to do but goad Stannis into trying to kill him and that won’t end well for anyone. 

Still, she makes sure to find the bearded man when he’s away from his compatriots. He’s seems the only sensible amongst the lot. Stannis is far too dour and serious and the Red Priestess sends chills down Jaime’s spine. 

The bearded man is actually a knight, Ser Davos, who freed Stannis from a siege when he was a boy. “Tyrells,” Davos explains. “Now one of them is sitting on Stannis’s throne. You can see why he’s eager to march and take it back.”

“Do you think he’ll make a good king?” Jaime asks. “Tommen’s too young to be a good king, and who rules is a fight between mother, wife, and grandfather. Will Stannis be better for the kingdom than Tyrells and Lannisters?”

“Yes,” Davos says.

The man certainly believes in his lord. Jaime isn’t convinced. “What about this priestess of his? It didn’t end well for the last king who took a liking to burning people alive.”

“She won’t be coming south,” Davos says. Jaime notices he doesn’t say anything about burning people. “She says her purpose is here. Something about death marching on the Wall.” Davos shrugs. “Besides, once Stannis has a proper army, he won’t need magic.”

“He will need a wife. I heard his died. She wasn’t prepared for the cold. Is that the option he’ll present to Queen Margaery? Marry him or die?”

“Will you sneak into King’s Landing and whisk her away if my answer is yes?” Davos stares sharply at her. “You’ve made quite the name for yourself. Stannis wants peace and stability for the realm. He is a...severe man but perhaps a young, vivacious wife will mellow him out. He isn’t cruel. I’ve seen enough cruel men to be able to spot them.”

Jaime sighs. “Your king won’t have much luck persuading Dorne to join him. I don’t recommend using force when his words fail him. You won’t bring Dorne back into the fold, and you won’t be allowed to kill Princess Myrcella.”

“She’s a bastard.”

Jaime shrugs. “No one can prove that. Your only hope is a confession from Cersei, and she loves her children more than anything. Myrcella is betrothed to Prince Trystane. Stannis won’t touch her.”

“You’re protective of her.”

“I’m tired of children dying when men fight over a fucking chair. Counsel your king well.”

***

Jaime seeks out Jon before the Dornish party plans to leave. Lady Catelyn has been giving Jaime significant looks for days now. Stannis and his army have gone south with Lady Catelyn’s blessing and missive to request aid from the River Lords. Confident, Jon and Sansa are well-situated, Jaime only has one last thing to do before she prepares for her return trip to Dorne.

“You and your wife seem quite happy,” Jaime says, hands linked behind her back. 

Jon can’t keep the smile off his face. “Yes.”

“You’re still young,” Jaime says. “I know the situation in the North is precarious, but you don’t need an heir yet.”

The smile slips off Jon’s face, replaced with mild horror. “Oh, gods,” he mutters. 

“Give Sansa a few more years before you ask her to bear a child.”

“I’m not--we’re not--” Jon’s face is a mottled red. “We consummated our marriage so no one could break it, but she took moon tea the next day. We’re not ready for children. We’ve agreed to wait.”

Jaime allows herself to breathe freer. “Several people have commented on your...happiness.”

Jon’s face flushes even redder. “There are ways for two people to enjoy each other’s company without creating a child.”

Jaime nods. “Right. Well. That was an excruciating conversation, and I hope to never have it again.” She claps Jon’s shoulder. “You’ll send Sunspear a raven when she  _ is  _ expecting, won’t you?”

“Of course. You’re part of our family. I received an answer from Dany, by the way. She says Rhaegal should stay here with me.”

“Between you and Rhaegal, the Starks will be safe.” Jaime pulls Jon in for a proper hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Me too. You’ll have to come visit. There are no decent spear masters up here.”


	11. Chapter 11

They’re a much smaller party when they leave Winterfall than when they entered it. The Stark girls obviously stay, along with Jon, Brienne, Sandor, and Gendry. It’s only Oberyn, Jaime, and Nymeria who leave, and they meet Obara and Tyene at the ship. Jeyne’s with them, with lighter circles under her eyes than the last time Jaime saw her.

She offers Jaime a shy smile and ducks behind Obara when she spots Oberyn. 

“Let’s go home,” Oberyn says. 

Muña curls up on a patch of sun on the upper deck and Jaime pats her head before she goes to help Oberyn. 

***

Muña sulks for the first few days as if she’s missing Rhaegal but after that she seems to recover. Jeyne loves to throw fish as far as she can and watch Muña chase after them. She toasts them mid-air then swallows them before they can fall in the ocean. 

Jeyne plays games with the girls and casts looks at Jaime and avoids Oberyn entirely. He doesn’t take it personally. 

“She can join the Sisters if she chooses,” Oberyn says during their nightly chat. “She’ll never have to set eyes on a man again if she doesn’t want to.”

“That’s a question for her to answer in Dorne. She needs to recover before she plans for the future.”

“Wise words.”

Jaime smiles. She looks around to make sure they’re alone before she leans in to kiss him. He kisses her back instantly, cradling her head between his hands. She bats his hands away so she can take the pins out of her hair. Once her braids fall down, she takes the ties out. Oberyn gets with the picture quickly and undoes her braids until he can run his hands through her hair. He groans and tips her head back so he can kiss her deeper.

She grabs fistfuls of his tunic and yanks him closer. The long line of his cock presses against her thigh and she stills, panic and worry fighting for control. She loosens her grip, but she doesn’t have a weapon on her. She hasn’t carried once since they set sail, because she figured she wouldn’t need one.

Oberyn steps away from her. He looks sad which is better than angry, but she’s still wary.

“Kissing doesn’t do anything for me down there.” She motions between her legs. 

“You like it, though.” 

She nods. She always wondered if the gods made her wrong, because from what she’s heard there’s supposed to be a connection. Cersei talked about the weapon between her legs enough that Jaime got curious a few times, but it was one weapon she never learned to master. 

“Would you trust me?” Oberyn holds his hand out to her.

Jaime thinks of his gentleness with her, how his infamous temper has never lashed out at her. She puts her hand in his and follows him down to his room. He motions for her to close the door, but he doesn’t say anything about locking it so Jaime leaves it unlatched. 

“You can leave at any time,” Oberyn tells her.

It sounds ominous, and the feeling doesn’t go away when Oberyn undoes the laces on his pants. Still, she told him she would trust him so she stays where she is, curious as he takes himself in hand. She knows, of course, what he’s doing, but she doesn’t understand why she’s watching. Is he going to expect her to do something? Does he think if she sees his cock she’ll be overcome with a need for it?

Mostly it’s just...odd. He seems to be enjoying himself, his head tilted back as he works his hand faster and faster. Finally, he groans and spills into his hand. He slumps on the bed, his eyes half-lidded, lazy and content like a cat in a sunbeam.

He catches sight of her face, and her thoughts must be clear, because he laughs. “I can take care of myself.” He finds a spare cloth and wipes his hand on it. “There’s nothing I need I can’t do on my own.” He pulls his breeches back up as if he knows she doesn’t want to see his cock flopping about. “Kissing does something for me down there,” his eyes crinkle as he uses her words from earlier, “but it doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

Jaime sits on the edge of his bed. “Thank you. I may have misjudged you when we first met.”

“Making quick decisions has no doubt saved your life multiple times. It’s better to be cautious than dead. Still, I’m glad we had a chance to meet again.” Oberyn wiggles until he’s only taking up half the bed. “Would you like to cuddle?”

“Cuddle?”

He grins. “Wholesome touching only.”

She almost makes a joke about keeping a dagger under the bed but she doesn’t need to. Keep a dagger. He’s...safe. It’s a revelation, one that stuns her for a moment. Before Oberyn can lose his smile, she strips out of her bulky outer layers and slips under the covers with him.

***

They continue to kiss at night when the young ones are below deck. It isn’t every night, but it’s enough that Jaime begins to get used to it. She learns to let her hair down so he can run his hands through it. She learns that she likes to pin him against the railing or the mast when she kisses him, but she doesn’t like it when he does the same to her. 

The first night they kiss in his bed, she doesn’t spend the night. The second time she does. The third time he asks for some privacy if she wants to stay, and she blushes but goes to visit Muña before she joins him in his bed. 

It’s an odd sort of arrangement, but she figures as long as they’re both happy, it isn’t anyone else’s business. Except, of course, they’re on their way to Dorne which means it is someone else’s business. 

“What will Ellaria think of this?” Jaime asks. It’s a cool night, one where she keeps her hair pinned. 

“We’re both free to have other lovers in our bed. She won’t be jealous or angry if that’s what your worried about.”

And he’ll have someone else to satisfy his...needs with when Jaime doesn’t. So she’ll what, be the mistress of the Red Viper of Dorne? Her father is blindingly angry right now and doesn’t know why. 

“And if you’d like to approach her, I would not be jealous or angry either.”

Jaime shakes her head. “I’m glad you’re happy together, and it isn’t a slight against her, but it seems like a lot effort to trust and like another person.” It took years with Oberyn, and she’s not sure she has the patience to do it again. Or that she even wants to. 

Oberyn surprises her by growing smug. “I was worth the effort?”

“Ugh.” Jaime can’t even fault him the smirk since it’s her own damn fault. But he was, and she finds herself reaching for his hand. “You were available but never pushy. I keep waiting to be disappointed in you, but I don’t think it will happen.”

“I will strive to be worthy of your attention.” He raises her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her skin. “I would like you to stay in Sunspear, to train and be trained in whatever weapons you wish, take walks on the beach with me, help raise my children, but I will not chain you to where I am. You will have the full resources of Dorne if you want to travel.”

“My age is catching up to me. I think it’s finally time to settle. There are worse places than Sunspear.” She tugs him closer and it’s her turn to press a kiss to the back of his hand. “Who would’ve ever thought, a Prince of Dorne welcoming a Lannister into his home.”

“A very special Lannister,” he says.

“And a very special prince.” She leans the rest of the way in to brush her lips against his. 

***

Muña takes off a few days before they reach harbor, but Jaime isn’t considered. No doubt, she senses her sister or possibly her mother and wants to investigate. And if not, well, Jaime doesn’t actually have any control over the beast. 

When they dock, there’s a whole welcoming committee. Daenerys in a shimmering purple gown jumps up and down and waves. Tyrion and Shae are more composed, but Tyrion still rocks up on his toes, giving away his excitement. A whole gaggle of Sands call out to their father and sisters. 

Jeyne looks overwhelmed at the reception and sticks closely to Jaime. She looks alarmed when she spots Tyrion and tries to hide behind Jaime.

“He won’t harm you,” Jaime promises. “And he won’t tell anyone you’re here. Dorne is a safe place for many people. Princess Myrcella is here as well.”

Daenerys spots Jeyne and offers the girl a brilliant smile. “Have you brought me another sister?”

“Sister?” Jeyne asks.

“Did you meet Jon? I call him brother though we aren’t brother and sister. May I call you sister? Will you be living with us?”

“Jon married Lady Sansa,” Jeyne says.

“Is he happy?”

The question is directed as Jaime who pulls Daenerys in for a hug. The girl hasn’t grown since Jaime last seen her. If she’s done then she’s destined to be quite short. “They both are. I think Arya might be the happiest. She’d convinced both Jon and Brienne to train with her by the time we left.”

“He better be a frequent writer.” Daenerys links her arm through Jeyne’s and guides her toward Sunspear. “I was new to Dorne once. After having a life with a very strict plan, the amount of freedom here was overwhelming at first. I’ll help you manage it.”

Jaime hangs back so the two girls can become acquainted. It means she falls into step with her brother and his Shae.

“Wife, actually,” Tyrion says with a proud smile. “We were too impatient to wait. I hope you aren’t upset.”

“I’ve heard I’m bad luck for weddings. It’s probably best you did it without me. But congratulations to the both of you.”

“Uh, double congratulations.” Tyrion flushes, but he looks proud as Shae pats her stomach. 

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Jaime asks. “I can’t wait.”

“I’ve been helping Prince Doran run things,” Tyrion says as they walk. “His health is failing, and I’ve got a good head for administrative work. Plus, I like to be busy. Shae, of course, is under very strict orders to be pampered. Ellaria’s been helping.” Her brother flushes again and Jaime does a poor job hiding her smile. 

They keep things light the first night back. There’s a feast in their honor, and Oberyn twirls his daughters around the dance floor, but he always finds himself with Ellaria in his arms again. By the end of the night, they’ve abandoned dancing entirely and simply sway as they kiss on the dance floor.

Jaime expected herself to feel jealous. She’s glad when no such emotion stirs in her chest. Mostly she feels relieved. Maybe they can make this work. Loreza climbs into Jaime’s lap as the evening wears on. She curls an arm around Jaime’s neck and tucks her head against Jaime’s chest. Within minutes she’s asleep which makes a very convenient excuse not to dance.

Oberyn spots the pair of them and his face melts into a happy smile. Now, Jaime feels something, her own heart full, fit to bursting. She and Jon spent so much time on the run, on their own, she thought it was the only way she could enjoy living. But this, surrounded by family, it’s even better. 

At the end of the night, she carries Loreza to her room and eases the girl into bed. She sleepily tugs as Jaime’s tunic as if to pull her into bed with her.

“You’ll be alright on your own, little one.” Jaime kisses her forehead and pulls the sheet up to her chin. 

When she leaves Loreza’s room, Obara is leaning against the far wall. Jaime tenses for a moment, but she doesn’t have any weapons on her. It’s a sloppy habit for a soldier to get into, but Dorne makes her think she’s untouchable. 

“You’re good with her,” Obara says, falling into step with Jaime.

“I like kids.”

“But you don’t want any.”

“No.”

“I guess that’s why you and my father are a good match. He needs at least one woman he isn’t knocking up all the time.”

“I’ll gladly accept that role.” They pause outside Jaime’s room. “I’m not sure I ever thanked you or your sisters for coming north with me.”

“It was fun. But I need a different adventure. Father always liked Essos. I might sail for a bit not that I know there’s someone to look after the snakelings.” 

“You don’t trust your father to do it?”

Obara scoffs. “He’ll spoil them too much. You seemed to do alright with Jon. If I ever have a kid, I’m giving it to you.”

“I’m flattered, I think?”

“Good night, Jaime.”

“Good night, Obara.”

***

The next morning, after they’ve slept late into the morning, Doran calls the adults together for business. He sits at a map of Westeros as they gather around him. “Ravens have been flying in and out for days. Stannis demands help or at least neutrality. Tywin tries to leverage Myrcella’s betrothal as a reason for us to come to his aid. There’s going to be a battle for King’s Landing, and it’s going to be soon. Stannis is drawing men to him as he marches south, and Tywin’s growing nervous.”

“He doesn’t have enough support,” Jaime says. “When Robb Stark marched south, Tywin used the boy’s inexperience against him. Twisted his allies and planted traps, until the boy got caught in it all. The Twins are favorable to the Lannisters, everyone else up there hates them. He won’t be able to pull the same tricks twice.”

“He’s crafty, though,” Tyrion says. “He always finds a way.”

“I should go to King’s Landing.”

Everyone turns to Jaime, but it’s Doran who speaks first. “Whatever for?”

“I was there last time it was sacked by Baratheon led forces.” She grips the table as she stares at Stannis’s numbers. He will win. It may take years and untold bloodshed, but he will prevail. “I could save Tommen. Margaery will be safe with a marriage, but Tommen’s a loose end.”

“Stannis is a stickler for honor,” Tyrion says. “He would allow Tommen to go to the Wall.”

Oberyn scoffs. “Might as well kill him, then. We already have his sister. Dorne can open its arms to Tommen. There doesn’t need to be another massacre.”

And this is why Jaime needs to be the one to go. She was there when this bloody mess began, and she’ll be there when it ends. Maybe this time, people might survive. She can take Cersei and Tommen to Essos where they’ll be safe. Margaery Tyrell doesn’t need to die, but who in King’s Landing now would stand between the girl and Stannis’s sword? 

#

Jaime leaves Muña with Daenerys and says her goodbyes. Oberyn follows her out to the stables where he watches as she saddles up. 

“I have to do this,” she says, preempting whatever he came here to say.

“I know.” He slaps her horse, sending her off on her mission. 

#

It’s easier to slip into a city under siege than she thought it would be. From there, she isn’t sure what to do. She can’t turn back Stannis’s army, and she isn’t even sure she wants to. She wants this to end and she wants as many people to survive as possible. She isn’t naive. Her sister and her father would both see the city burn before they let it be snatched from their hands.

Burned.

The wildfire.

_ Fuck _ .

She can’t search the city for all the hidden caches. She can pray no one lights them or...the bells. An advisor begged Aerys to ring them, but he ordered the man killed for suggesting a dragon surrender. Jaime isn’t a dragon, and she won’t allow her pride to get in the way. She hurries to Grand Sept of Baelor.

The High Septon is a man who doesn’t recognize her. She doesn’t recognize him either.

“You need to ring the bells,” Jaime says. Davos told her Stannis was an honorable man. He won’t slaughter a city if it lays down its arms.

“And who gives this order?” The man is dressed plainly, thinner than she remembers the capital’s religious leaders to be.

“Jaime Lannister, daughter of the Hand, sister to the Queen Mother, and aunt to the King.”

“You’re dead.”

“Clearly not. On behalf of my family and every innocent person in this city, ring the fucking bells.”

“You might be an imposter.”

Jaime takes a step closer. “I was here the last time this city was taken. I killed King Aerys before he could detonate his stashes of wildfire. Do you know what that means?”

“Kingslayer,” the man breathes.

_ Idiot _ . “It means the wildfire is still there. Do you know my sister? My father? They will light it to save themselves. Ring the bells and save the city.”

“Very well, but you should confess your sins before the Seven.”

“We don’t have time for that.”

“After.”

Jaime glares at him until she hears the first ring of the bells. Then she runs to the Red Keep, because she remembers what happened the last time the city was invaded. Around her, men drop their weapons and children poke their heads out windows to see what’s happening. She takes a lesser known route into the throne room and skids to a halt.

Sitting on the Iron Throne is Cersei, Tommen gathered in her arms. His head is tucked against her shoulder. He’s quiet, peaceful. Jaime’s too late.

Cersei spots her and sneers. “Come to gloat?”

“No. I came to protect him. He would’ve been safe with Myrcella.”

“My daughter. You’ve seen her?”

“She’s alive and well.” Jaime approaches the throne. “She’ll stay that way. You could leave. Essos is far enough away. They won’t ask questions.”

“Who are you?” Cersei whispers.

“You don’t recognize me?” Jaime’s smile is sad. “We were once inseparable. But Aerys hooked his talons in me, and Father took you home to plot.”

“No. Father said you died.”

“He wished I had.” When Jaime reaches for her sister, Cersei pulls back, out of her reach.

“You never came home. Why didn’t you come back to me?”

“Ned Stark gave me Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son to raise. Father and your husband wanted him dead.”

“You chose  _ them  _ over family? Father was right. I was the only true Lannister he had.”

“Cersei--”

The woman’s eyes close, and she slumps on the throne. An empty vial slips from her fingers and falls to the floor before it rolls away. Jaime tucks her sister’s arms around her son. Her eyes fill with tears, but she can’t afford to shed them yet.

As she stands, a young woman rushes into the room. She gasps when she sees the figures on the throne.

“Queen Margaery.” Jaime clears her throat. “There’s still time to get you out.”

“It’s kind of you to offer, but my place is here. I am the Queen of Westeros. My people need me. Stannis will see the sense in the match.”

Jaime recognizes the determination in the set of Margaery’s shoulders. She eases the crown from Tommen’s head and holds it out. “When Stannis arrives, offer him the crown. It might spare your life.”

“What about yours?”

Her best hope is to escape the city before anyone realizes she’s here. Before she can, Tywin storms into the throne room. He spots Cersei and Tommen. His gaze slides to Jaime. “What have you done?”

“The city doesn’t deserve to die for your pride.”

Tywin looks ready to draw his sword on her. Instead, he turns to the boy with him. “Tell the maester to light the caches.”

“No!” Jaime shouts and the boy hesitates.

“Your king is dead,” Tywin says. “You will obey me.”

“No,” Margaery says. “You will do as your  _ queen  _ commands. You will not light the caches.”

The boy looks from Queen to Hand. Tywin growls. “I see I have to do everything myself.”

_ No. Not again _ . Her father heads for the main doors. Jaime chases him down, draws her sword, and drives it through his back.

“Jaime?” he asks, incredulous.

She lowers her sword, and her father’s body falls to the ground. The main doors open, and Stannis strides through. bloodied sword raised and ready to use. He falters when he spots Jaime standing over her father’s body. “You again?”

“Aye.”

Margaery interrupts their staring contest by gliding over. Once she has Stannis’s attention, she kneels, crown raised up toward him. “The city is yours, your Grace.”

Jaime slips out as Stannis stares at the crown. Davos spots her, but he makes move to keep her from leaving. 

“Stannis has the crown,” Jaime tells the men at the base of the steps.

They surge forward to see for themselves. Jaime steals Stannis’s horse and rides for Dorne. It’s a familiar journey, though she takes the shorter route this time. She rides and she rides, and no one stops to give her a babe. She rides some more.

She makes it to Yronwood before she properly stops. She looks a fright, blood splattered on her clothes, her face and hair dirty. There’s something wild in her eyes, she can feel it, and her welcoming committee shies away.

All but one.

Oberyn steps forward, his hands extended toward her.

She clasps his wrists, unwilling to dirty his silks. She takes a deep shuddering breath.

“It’s over,” Oberyn murmurs, his voice pitched only for her. “We received ravens. We know what happened.”

She’s absurdly grateful she doesn’t have to tell him. Maybe her father was right all along. She is a coward. Her father. Dead at her own hand. Her sister and nephew, dead because she ordered the bells rung. But how many lives because the city surrendered to Stannis instead of fighting? 

“I don’t know what to do now,” she admits. Jon is settled, Daenerys too. Myrcella has Trystane. Tyrion’s building himself a family. None of them need her anymore. 

Oberyn steps closer until she has to tip her chin up to meet his gaze. “Now, you live.”


End file.
